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A MIDSUMMER DArS 

D R E ^ M 


By 

H. B. MARRIOTT WATSON 

Author of “Twisted Eglantine’^ 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
NEW YORK 
1906 



iUlSff AITtf nf 

SEr r 1906 

(4 P. f,J (^ 

l?.A8S (^yXti.H(x 

OOPY e ' 


Copyright, 1906, bt 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 


Pul)lished September, 1906 


TO 


ROSAMUND MARRIOTT WATSON 

You and I, my dear, have often wandered in Arcady, 
and have lost our way in forests mysterious. We have 
both had midsummer madness under the plenilune, and 
have smiled and jested and shed tears over the march of 
human (including our own) fortunes. The admirable gift 
of laughter obviates so many tragedies, and to live in a 
fairy-tale is the best that poor human nature may ask. I 
think, and rejoice, that we are both incurably romantic, and 
even at the end of a long day (should that be granted us) 
shall still have faith and see beauty in the disposition of 
the world. For to be a heretic of romance is to be old 
indeed, nay, to have outlived one’s proper term of life. 

This is such stuff as dreams are made of, yet I hope it 
faithfully materializes life, as mirrored in a dream lightly 
and ordered by happy accidents. In those bays of the 
Wilderness have we not often walked, and shall we 
not walk again in sunlight and in shadow ? So that this 
stands in your name who have stood for so much in its 
making ; and when our little company once more makes 
its entrance in Titania’s Glade, let us hope. Enter Moon- 
shine. 

Your affectionate husband, 

H. B. Marriott Watson. 


MIDSUMMER DAY, I906. 


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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Dryad i 

II. Mainly About Bottom 20 

III. Itur in Antiquam Silvam 37 

IV. Chloe 53 

V. The Supper Table 69 

VI. The Lady in the Bedroom 88 

VII. The Rosery 102 

VIII. The Royal Commission . . . * . . . 119 

IX. Hermia 139 

X. Sylvia Latham’s Daughter 159 

XL Concerning Bees — and Wasps 177 

XII. Titania’s Glade 192 

XIII. Allegra and Penserosa 213 

XIV. Helena 229 

XV. Lord Eastwood 247 

XVI. Love in Idleness 261 

XVII. Well Met by Moonlight 281 

XVIII. The Handkerchief 296 

XIX. A Fool, a Fool ! I Met a Fool i’ the Forest . 313 

XX. Cupid all Arm’d . . . . ' . . . . 333 

XXL The Curtain Rises 35o 


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A MIDSUMMER DAY’S DREAM 


CHAPTER I 

THE DRYAD 

Philip Bannatyne reached the lodge gates, which 
gave access to Temple Park from the heath, about ten 
of the clock. The moon, near to her fullness, shone 
strongly down the avenue of Spanish chestnuts, flinging 
checkers almost as determined as the sun at noon. 
Philip’s eyes passed along the low umbrageous vista of 
stooping trees and foundered on the sheer forest that ter- 
minated it. 

“ A lovely night — a most amazing night ! ” said he, 
sweeping off his hat to bare his head to the cool nocturnal 
air. 

As his train from the north had missed its connec- 
tions at Reading he had arrived at the station too late for 
Lady Coombe’s carriage. No doubt they had given him 
up, or if they had not what did it matter? The house 
party was busily arriving, and he would not be missed. 
The walk had been delightful by field, path, and wood, 
and here he was at the park. 

Bannatyne opened the little gate, shut it with a click, 
turned his back on the plenilune, and strode down the 
latticed darkness of the avenue. The way was by green- 
sward betwixt the spreading trees, and the breeze fanned 

I 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


him as he moved in this silent wilderness. He had to 
himself the air of one walking in paradise, an unknown 
paradise of sweet scents and melodious sounds ; a para- 
dise revisited, and strange but yet familiar. When he 
turned out of the avenue into the paths of the wild gar- 
den, he heard the drone of water far away. It came from 
the Wellingbourne, he remembered, and sighed. How 
many dusty and silent years ago had he first visited 
Temple Park! It was ten years since he had fished 
Gladys out of the pool below the house, and Gladys must 
be rising fifteen. Bannatyne began to whistle softly an 
encouraging air. This part of the park was half forest, 
half garden, and wholly wilderness. Paths of green 
grass moved through it in various directions to various 
ends and purposes of their own. They started away 
joyously, singly, and with a promise of fidelity and sin- 
cerity; but presently, belying their faith, would divide 
shiftily, wander elusively, and treacherously emerge in 
fastnesses which seemed virgin to the foot of man. The 
Temple Wilderness was a practical joke on the part of 
one Coombe now dead and forgotten a hundred years. 
Its ostensible aim and design was to lead from the upper 
lodge on the heath to the house in the valley; what it 
generally did was to lead the trusting wayfarer into re- 
mote corners and dump him there hopelessly and help- 
lessly. Let him find his way back if he could. It was 
his affair. Temple Hall could get on very well without 
him. It had done so for several generations. Well, if 
he wanted simple ways and a straightforward path, why 
had he not entered from the village side, whence the car- 


2 


The Dryad 


riage road curved with decent amplitude and by well- 
trimmed sward to the house? The paths through the 
wilderness were for those in a mood to mock at fate. 
They were for Pucks, hobgoblins, elves, Robin Good- 
fellows, and their congeners. Through brier and 
bracken, under cover of firs, oaks, beeches, and by long 
lines of rhododendrons and yews, they made way with 
the object of getting nowhere. True, if you followed 
with skill and with the advantages of former knowledge, 
you might take the right turnings, and so descend by easy 
happy gradients to the murmurous Wellingbourne below 
and the hospitality of Temple Hall. This was what 
Philip Bannatyne was endeavoring to do. 

Temple Park was not unfamiliar to him, but the wil- 
derness was baffling of nights. The moon gleamed 
through the pines, and, when he passed into the open, 
stared on him coldly and with no appearance of favor. 
He took two bends of the pathway with easy indiffer- 
ence, and made two divergences with a light heart. 

It goes left here, by jingo,” said he to himself, and 
swung out contentedly upon the trail. But in point of 
fact that trail was running merrily for the wild and 
broken wood that faced the heath. He paused after ten 
minutes, took off his hat again, and inhaled the sweet air. 

A heavenly evening ! ” he breathed, '' ' In such a 
night ' — no ; I must be calm. Fve come here to play ‘ A 
Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ not ‘ The Merchant of 
Venice.’ I shall be growing into a real professional. 
‘ In such a night ’ — I know I’ve lost my way.” 

He retraced his steps. The rhododendrons had 

3 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


ceased ; the aspect of the environing silence was savage ; 
it foreboded and threatened. Philip turned his eyes on 
it. Feral creatures seemed to peer out of that blackness, 
where the shadows fell thickly. The bracken had grown 
somber, dark, mysterious. No longer elves walked and 
sported here; it was the home and ambush of darker 
presences. 

“ I should have turned to the right,” said Bannatyne 
reflectively. “ Well, Fll turn to the right now, as Fve 
not yet been eaten.” He wandered back in the same lazy 
mood, enjoying himself, the night, and the engirdling se- 
clusion. No voices spoke in the undergrowth, for the 
silence of night and midsummer had fallen. But the wind 
made a continuous whisper overhead, which seemed by 
its gentle urbanity to emphasize the surrounding solitude, 
as it were the accompaniment to unheard strains. Ban- 
natyne set his ears to the night and listened for ^olian 
music, but the murmuring leaves were far above him and 
the sound of the wind was as the sound of water on a 
shore, of water lisping as it fell on the sands and seeth- 
ing as it withdrew. 

The upper park indeed had some resemblance to the 
land upon which a sea beat, but it was a sea of green- 
sward. The ridge which was covered by the wilderness 
was broken into several little bays, up which the wild 
grass advanced, from which the wild wood receded. On 
these irregular glades which ran up from the home 
gardens about the house, and from the serener open 
spaces of the deer park beyond, the paths of the wilder- 
ness at times touched, paused momentarily, and then 
4 


The Dryad 


jerked you away round a corner unsuspectingly, but 
reluctantly, into the cool recesses of the wildwood. 
Philip Bannatyne knew that he had passed two of these 
bays or glades, for the moon shining betwixt the promon- 
tories of the Wilderness had been white upon these in- 
closed and wood-locked spaces. 

“ Confound it ! I will break recklessly through,” said 
he with mock anger, contemplating in his pause the 
arret e of shrubbery which barred his path. No ; on 
second thoughts Pll have a cigarette,” he amended, and, 
lowering himself gently by the way, leaned into the 
bracken and smoked. It is odd how noises begin to creep 
out when one makes part of nature. Bannatyne would 
have sworn that there had been nothing save the wind 
and the leaves a few minutes before, and now the sounds 
were infinite. They broke upon the ear in a soft insistent 
tumult which swelled and ever swelled; and the low oc- 
taves of the leaves overhead seemed to recede into the 
distance. He was taking his place in the underworld 
where minute things happen, where infinitesimal sounds 
make their mark, where life is on another scale. The 
roaring wind has no part in that life ; no, not more than 
in our lives has the cataclysm of the spheres. 

But one sound persisted, tinkling in a happy, monot- 
onous, melancholy way upon his senses. The murmur 
of insects, the blundering buzz of the moth, the creeping 
and crawling of the bracken — all these converged upon 
his ears, but irregularly. Something persisted, and it 
dawned upon him only gradually what it was. He threw 
away the end of his cigarette and stood up. 

5 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


“‘The moon shines bright; in such a night as this 
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees . . 

'' Confusion ! I am at it again. But the moonlight 
has slept sweet upon the bank, and I have heard sweet 
music. 

‘Soft stillness and the night 

Become the touches of sweet harmony. . . .* 

“ It’s water, but it’s not the Wellingbourne, I remem- 
ber. It’s the fall near the spring, and by that token it 
makes me not far from the beeches above the turnstile. 
Let us go.” 

With a stave humming on the air, he moved along the 
pathway now in the direction of the tinkling sound, 
which emerged gradually into greater significance. 
Presently it became audible as the splash of water in a 
basin, and soon after, plunging off the pathway, Banna- 
tyne threaded his way into a little dell, the source of one 
of the springs that feed the Wellingbourne. 

He stood looking for some minutes at the thread of 
silver light dancing in the eye of the moon, and gleaming 
and glancing against the soft fronds of the bracken. 
The night was wonderful; after a scorching day the air 
came cool through the deeps of the wood ; and the 
memory of that heat made the gushing water grateful to 
the senses. It fell in a thin stream some ten feet down 
the face of a rock, dotted with ferns. Bannatyne had an 
impulse to put his head under it. Had he not done so 
once years ago to amuse Gladys? He recalled that it 
had been delightful, as delicious as a shower in Eden 
6 


The Dryad 


must have been. He had shaken his locks like a dog 
from the water, and Gladys had shaken with laughter, 
and almost fallen in again. 

He had withdrawn his Panama from his head as he 
remembered, and bent forward. Yes, it was as delight- 
ful as ever. What cool delectable shudders went cours- 
ing down the back ! Splash, splash, splash fell the stream 
on the face ; he turned his head about with something of 
the spirit of a gourmet, indulging his appetite to the full 
and in all aspects, his eyes close-lidded, a modern Epi- 
curean, sunk in sensual enjoyment — temporarily. And 
all of a sudden he was conscious of receiving a sharp 
blow in the face. 

Bannatyne started, uttered an exclamation and opened 
his eyes in a mist of water. He was aware now of a low 
cry of alarm, and through the spray caught the gleam 
of a white foot hastily withdrawing upward. He 
blinked and gazed again. What miracle was this from 
the upper world? Had goddesses descended from their 
ethereal homes? No; it was only that some one had 
taken advantage of the grassy knoll above to dangle 
white naked feet in the falling water. Even as he gazed, 
his cheek still tingling from the blow, he knew she had 
fled in a tempest of shame and alarm. Who might it be 
that haunted that fount? He moved swiftly and almost 
involuntarily up the rise, and saw a shadow slip furtively 
between shadows through the wood. It was like a dim 
ghost that flitted from tree to sheltering tree, or maybe 
some wood nymph that fled before pursuer. Daphne 
before Apollo, that bright and bitter god. Th^ shadow 

7 


A Midsummer Day's Dream 


of the nymph wore the aspect of eager alarm. Banna- 
tyne watched her. 

“ If I only dared follow ! ” he murmured. “ But I 
mustn’t, and she will disappear and I shall never know. 
Life is composed of such disappointments. There’s noth- 
ing really in life. It is a blunder and a shame, simul- 
taneously, as the poet observes. Well, there she goes 
out — out of sight and out of my life. And to think I 
might have laid the foundation of a romance ! ” 

He turned about, and was descending when he became 
aware that he was scattered with spray. At that cruel 
wanton blow he had lost his balance and gone under; 
the cascade had spread upon him indiscriminately as a 
shower, and he was uncomfortably moist. As he sur- 
veyed himself with a whimsical expression of dismay, his 
eyes encountered an object on the ground, pale in the 
moonlight. He stooped and picked it up. It was a rose 
— the large lemon-white flower of La Gloire Lyonnaise. 
He put his nose to it, and drew in the rnystery of the East, 
the charm of life and love and summer residual in that 
pungent fragrance. 

“ A clew,” he remarked cheerfully. ‘‘ Item, dropped 
from the bosom of the Dryad.” He paused suddenly, 
stooped again quickly, and emerged into his full stature 
as a man with a small shoe in his hand. 

“ Clew number two,” he said triumphantly. “ Cin- 
derella’s slipper, or shoe, Paris-made; item, dropped in 
her confused flight. She must have clutched them all 
together when she took fright. Let me see. Perhaps 

she’s left other things behind. Perhaps she’s left a ” 

8 


The Dryad 


He scanned the ground carefully for some minutes. 

No,” he sighed ; “ that’s the tale of them. I must be 
content with my clews, charmingly insufficient as they 
are. So that if I meet a beautiful girl with no rose at her 
breast, and one foot bare, I may be certain of her iden- 
tity. She belongs to me ; she is mine — mine by right of 
conquest, well, of expiation . . . vengeance. ... It is 
the law of the forest.” 

He put the great rose in his buttonhole and the shoe 
in his pocket, and resumed his walk. At the next turn- 
ing of the grassway he paused, for the sound of voices 
came to him. 

“ Enter these enchanted woods,” said he medita- 
tively, as he listened. “There are more dryads yonder 
— perhaps mine with them.” 

He swung about in the direction of the sounds, and 
went down slowly on a path bordering an open glade in 
which rose a few great oaks. Under the serene moon- 
light he could see in the distance a number of forms mov- 
ing about the checkers of the trees. He hastened his 
steps, and immediately the frolicsome path dipped away 
from the glade and plunged deep into the wood. Ban- 
natyne stopped, and had almost made up his mind to 
abandon it and fare forth into the open when his ear 
was arrested by new voices hard by, seeming to proceed 
from somewhere ahead of him. He therefore resumed 
his journey, in the expectation of happening upon others 
of the house party. 

“ The wood regularly swarms with dryads,” said he. 
The gleeful path shook itself again, and ran out once 
3 9 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


more upon the margin of the glade, and once more Ban- 
natyne saw the fleeting shadows. The arm of one was 
raised in a dramatic gesture. 

“ Tm blessed if they’re not rehearsing,” thought the 
young man, and was quickening his steps still further 
when he heard the noise of something in the bushes on 
his left, something tearing, and bustling, and rolling 
among the bushes. He stopped and waited, and a faint 
voice issued to him. 

'‘Do you mind — ? I’m extremely sorry, but I — I 
can’t get up. I’m — I think I’m stuck here.” 

Bannatyne peered into the tangled shrubbery of nut 
and ramble and bracken. “ Where are you ? ” he asked 
anxiously. 

“ Here,” said the faint voice, and it was unmistakably 
the voice of a woman. 

Quite agitatedly, Bannatyne parted the undergrowth 
and pushed through, guiding himself toward the voice. 
It was a woman, and it might be ... No, it was not. 
He saw that as he gave her his hand, for the malignant 
moon which should have veiled herself shone deliberately 
on her, and displayed a stout, elderly woman, with a book 
in one hand and an anxious expression on her face. 

“ Thanks so very much,” she said without any great 
show of distress. “ I fear I’m a nuisance.” 

“ Not at all,” said Bannatyne politely. “ Only too 
delighted to be of assistance to any dryads. If you’ll 
please lean this way I think ” 

“ That’s where the brambles are,” explained the stout 
lady, “ I’ve just leaned that way.” 

lo 


The Dryad 


Oh, of course, if youVe tried — ” said he courteously. 
'‘Well, can you give me both hands — just so? Never 
mind the book. Now.” 

" Please bear in mind Fm sitting in a bramble bush, 
will you ? ” asked the stout lady mildly. 

Bannatyne promised, and, exerting himself to the 
utmost, succeeded in extricating her in one wrench. She 
stood up, smoothed her dress, breathing deeply. “ Thank 
you so much. I don’t know whatever I should have 
done without you.” She looked at him. “ You’re — 
you’re of the house party ? ” she inquired. 

He assented, adding, “ My name’s Bannatyne.” 

" Oh ! ” she said with a little more animation. " Then 
you’re taking the part of Lysander. We expected you 
earlier, and there was a rehearsal called. In fact they’re 
rehearsing now.” She pointed up the bank on which 
they stood. 

" Up there ? ” he asked in wonder. 

" Yes,” said the stout lady, and nodding toward the 
glade also. " And out there. You see Lady Coombe 
wanted the Oberon-Titania parts done, and so she’s 
got the glade, and Mr. Ferris was anxious about his 
part — he’s Demetrius, you know — and couldn’t wait; so 
we came up here. Oh ! ” she broke off. “ Where’s my 
book?” 

Bannatyne stooped and recovered it. "A Midsum- 
mer Night’s Dream,” he read. 

" Yes, I was reading it when I fell,” remarked the 
stout lady indifferently. 

"Fell!” he echoed. "Not — you didn’t fall?” He 
II 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


looked up the bank, from the top of which voices now 
came down to them. 

Yes, I got too near the edge and toppled over,^* 
said the lady regarding the distance appraisingly. '' It 
was rather a long fall, wasn’t it ? ” 

“Terrible!” said Bannatyne. “You might have — ” 

“ Oh, but I didn’t,” she said. “ I’m no worse. If 
you’d come earlier it wouldn’t have happened.” 

Bannatyne bowed prettily. “ I’m charmed to think 
that my timely appearance has impressed you with my 
resourcefulness and — ” But he was interrupted placidly. 

“ Oh, but it was just not timely — ^that it was not. You 
see, I was reading your part, Mr. Bannatyne. I was 
being Lysander, and I didn’t notice. I had just got to — 
let me see, where had I just got to? Oh, you know, 

‘ Where art thou, proud Demetrius? Speak thou now . . . 

I will be with thee straight.’ 

And then I went. I don’t know what happened to De- 
metrius J' 

“ Good heavens ! ” ejaculated Bannatyne. “ I apolo- 
gize. It was the trains. My dear lady, let me take you 
back in safety. I will also relieve you of your work. It 
was unfair to place the job in your hands in this light.” 

“ Oh, I got on pretty well,” said the stout lady com- 
placently. “You see, they practically only wanted the 
cues.” 

“ Talking of cues or clews — ” began the young man, 
and came to an abrupt pause with his hand in his pocket. 
Instinctively he made a movement as if to inspect his 
12 


The Dryad 


companion’s feet, and then checking himself moved on. 
She was talking in an everflowing amiable way as they 
mounted by a circuitous path, and at last they emerged 
into a ring of rhododendrons. 

“ They’re still going on,” observed the lady with a 
note which was hardly plaintive. “ That’s Mr. Ferris, 
and that’s Miss Arden. I don’t suppose they’ve missed 
me.” 

They emerged into view, but Ferris paid no heed. 
“ Now please. Miss Grant-Summers,” he was saying. 
“ Attention. Theseus, just drop it a while, please. Now 
Hermia, let’s have that over again, if you’ll be so kind. 
We didn’t quite get the swing of it. You didn’t ring out 
that abuse as if you meant it. Helena — Miss Arden, 
would you? Thank you; now something like this, 
Hermia : 

‘ O me! you juggler! you canker blossom! You thing of love! ’ 

“ Where’s Lysander, by the way ? Anyone seen 
Lysander ? ” 

Here am I, Mr. Ferris,” called out Bannatyne’s com- 
panion in her faint, easy voice. 

Oh, there you are. I couldn’t make out where 
you’d got to, after that speech. You were supposed to 
go to sleep, and I suppose you obeyed the directions, 
eh?” He laughed, obviously without paying any heed 
in his preoccupation and turned away. “ Helena, 
please.” There was linked sweetness ending on that 
musical name. ^‘Helena/' 


13 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


'' No, Mr. Ferris,” began the stout lady indignantly. 
“ Nothing of the sort. I was just going to sit down 
when I toppled ” 

Philip Bannatyne stared at Helena. It was Miss 
Arden. He stepped forward and examined her feet as 
she passed. 

“ Why, it’s Mr. Bannatyne,” cried Miss Arden. 

“ How do you do ? ” said Bannatyne sweetly, with one 
eye on the ground, for Miss Arden’s feet were in shadow. 
“ How delightful to have thought of this theater for re- 
hearsal. That, I suppose, was your idea, Miss Arden.” 

“ Oh, dear no,” she laughed. “ It was Mr. Ferris’s. 
He’s awfully keen. He’s rehearsing, as you know — 
But please don’t pull me. You’ll have me over. I’m 
sure you don’t want my hand so long.” 

'' I beg your pardon,” murmured Bannatyne abstract- 
edly. “ I was thinking ” 

“ Now then, please, Helena” urged Ferris. Banna- 
tyne dropped the fingers he held and Miss Arden passed 
on. No; her feet were clad in pretty livery. She was 
not the dryad. He stood aside and surveyed the scene. 
Demetrius was pleading with Hermia. At the farther 
side of the arena on a wooden bench sat Theseus indo- 
lently smoking a cigarette and regarding the players 
moodily. Bannatyne recognized Theseus, whom he knew 
as Captain Madgwick. He left his place and walked 
across, and saluted his friend. 

‘‘ Hulloa, old man,” said Theseus indifferently. 
‘‘ You got down? Know your part? ” 

“ Know it ! ” echoed Bannatyne. “ It has been sing- 
14 


The Dryad 


ing in my head and my heart as I came through the 
wood. ‘ A fool, a fool, I met a fool i’ the forest.' ” 

Captain Madgwick looked at him. “ That’s not it,” 
he observed. “ That’s a different play — I forget its 
name. I know it is because I was turning the page and 
saw it this morning. Lord, what an awful grind it is 
getting up these speeches ! ” 

“Is it?” said Bannatyne. “Ah, but then yours is 
a difficult part — very difficult. More blooming study, 
Madgwick. I’m afraid you and I are in for it. Alas, 
poor Yorick! I knew him well, Madgwick. Who is 
here?” 

Theseus regarded him distrustfully. Madgwick was 
an elegant man with well-trained mustache and a hand- 
some face of the military pattern. The mold in which 
Captain Madgwick was cast is never broken; it’s good 
looks become monotonous ; it has no distinction, not even 
that which might be claimed for ugliness. Madgwicks 
are as like as peas or Chinamen; and to amiability they 
add dullness and impeccability. But Theseus looked at 
Bannatyne with some distrust ; he never quite understood 
him. 

“ Oh, Lady Fallowfield, and, of course, Hancock, and 
there’s Ferris; and two or three pretty girls, don’t you 
know. Oh, and Peter Bouverie, and a young ass or two 
Lady Coombe’s picked up. And so on.” 

“Who’s Hermia?’^ asked Bannatyne, as a girl swept 
near him, pitifully weeping. 

Captain Madgwick cast him a glance. “ Don’t you 
know Miss Grant-Summers ? ” he asked. 

15 


A Midsummer Day’s Dream 


“ No,” said Bannatyne deliberately. But Fm going 
to,” he added with decision. Fm going to very well. 
She’s my Hermia, you know. I think Fll begin at 
once. It’s always a mistake to shirk rehearsals; besides 
it’s bad form. I think I’d better let Ferris know Fm 
here.” 

Captain Madgwick’s glance rested on him moodily. 
'' Hang it all,” he said. “ They might have given a fel- 
low a decent part. You’ve all the fat.” 

‘‘ I shall fail,” said Bannatyne, shaking his head ; “ I 
have a presentiment I shall fail, and you will step into 
my shoes. I shall probably die of stage fright, to begin 
with. Then I shall lose my memory. Lastly, I shall be 
kicked off in disgrace. Dead men tell no tales.” 

Theseus uttered a little puzzled guffaw. '' You’ve got 
the pick of the bunch, Bannatyne,” said he. Miss 
Grant-Summers takes a lot of beating. And Ferris is 
so damned interfering. He’s nuts on Miss Arden. Can’t 
you hear him cooing to her when he calls? He’s prac- 
tically taken the stage-managing out of Hancock’s hands. 
That’s why he got us over here. Look at him hammer- 
ing away at this scene, not caring a dump about you, just 
to get the two women to himself. He hasn’t called on 
me for the last half hour.” 

Theseus, Theseus! ” came in Ferris’s decisive voice. 

Hulloa, Fm on,” said the Captain, struggling to his 
feet. Bannatyne followed. 

'' We’ll take Act V up to Pyramus and Thisbe,” said 
Ferris in a businesslike way. “ Now then, please. Hip- 
polytaT 

i6 


The Dryad 

Oh, please wait a minute,” said a woman’s voice in 
the dark and the distance. “ My dress is caught ! ” 

Bannatyne rushed forward. It was another chance. 
He might perhaps eliminate one more from the list of 
possible dryads. He discovered a dim white form bend- 
ing over a blackberry bush. 

Let me help you,” said he pleasantly. 

Oh, if you’d be so good,” said a gracious voice. 
But he could not make out her face in the shadows. 
Still it would surely be possible to see if she had a bare 
foot. He disentangled the lace very slowly. Who was 
this, he wondered, chattering the while. 

'' I fear it’s giving you a lot of trouble,” said the lady 
demurely. 

'' Delightful trouble,” said he heartily. 

Now then, Hippolyta ! ” called the merciless voice 
of Ferris. 

'' Coming almost at once,” said poor Hippolyta. 

Bannatyne rose with the liberated skirt. Alas, she 
was shod. He saw her now in the half light. Tall and 
queenly she was, with squared shoulders, and white, 
strong throat. Her form was imperial. She smiled and 
bowed her gratitude. 

Who’s that ? ” inquired Bannatyne of the stout lady 
whom he found near him now. 

'' That’s Mrs. Everard Battye,” said his companion. 

It occurred to him that he should also have asked who 
his companion was, but he did not. He did not exactly 
see how he might; and after all it did not matter. She 
did not seem embarrassed by his ignorance. 

17 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


Theseus was addressing the scene in tones of cultured 
apathy : 

“ ‘ The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven. 

And as imagination bodies forth 

The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen 

Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 

A local habitation and a name. 

Such tricks hath strong imagination; 

That, if it would but apprehend some joy. 

It comprehends some bringer of that joy; 

Or, in the night, imagining some fear. 

How easy is a bush suppos’d a bear.’ 

“ I say this is rather rot, Ferris,’’ declared Theseus, 
breaking in on his own soliloquy. “ Can’t I cut some of 
this? It’s awfully hard to remember.” 

Why, it’s mostly quotations, man,” said Ferris jocu- 
larly. 

Theseus mumbled and turned to his Hippolyta. 

“ They don’t want us,” murmured the stout lady at 
Bannatyne’s elbow. 

“ I’m not sure I don’t want them, or some of them,” 
said he, frowning. Hermia had already passed out of his 
category of Cinderellas. But Hermia was his Hermia, 
and was amazingly handsome, at any rate in the moon- 
light. He looked across to the glade of oaks under 
which other shadows were moving. They invited him; 
they called him. To the attraction of that distant and 
alluring vision under the visiting moon he could not shut 
his eyes. No sirens ever sang in the ears of Ulysses as 

i8 


The Dryad 


danced those figures in his eyes. He sighed, and turned 
his back on Hermia. 

“ No, they don’t want us. They’re too businesslike,” 
said he. “ Besides some one over yonder may have only 
one shoe ; who knows ? ” 

His companion was still at his side. “ Only one 
shoe ! ” she said wonderingly. 

Bannatyne started. He had forgotten her, for he 
was mightily self-centered. But he was also ready. He 
had gauged the stout lady already. 

‘‘ Yes,” he said reflectively, “ hope is the last senti- 
ment to abandon the human breast. I am still hoping to 
find a woman wearing one shoe. I shall go on to my 
dying day doing so. Some day I’ll tell you all about it. 
Meanwhile I’m going over there.” 

'' I’ll go with you,” said the lady after a puzzled pause. 
“ Perhaps I can help you to find her.” 


19 


CHAPTER II 


MAINLY ABOUT BOTTOM 

Bannatyne and his new friend passed down the 
pathway and emerged upon the open, where the moon- 
light reigned supreme, unchallenged by clouds and un- 
defied by shadows. The white light lay cool upon the 
grass which was smelling sweet from the recent hay- 
making; a little way off the great oaks loomed gigantic 
about the wraiths of men and women that disported there. 

“ I’ve got one daughter over here,” remarked the 
stout lady placidly. ‘‘ I don’t know where the other is.” 

This style of conversation savored of Mr. F.’s aunt, 
but so wonderful a night hallowed everything, and her 
remarks might almost seem witty in the general halo of 
peace, pleasure, and impossibility. Of all the irrespon- 
sible people in Temple Park that night, surely this stout 
lady was the most irresponsible. Bannatyne found him- 
self eying her furtively, and wondering what next would 
issue from her rag-bag of a mind. She dropped feeble 
remarks as untidily as a slattern drops hairpins. 

“ Lady Coombe’s Titania,” she observed. 

“ A charming Titania” said Bannatyne. 

“ Mr. Bouverie’s Oberon/^ she continued. 

“ Hm — ah — an enviable Oheron,” said he. 

“ He ought to do it very well,” she rambled on. 
“ Don’t you think he’s very funny, Mr. Bannatyne ? ” 
20 


Mainly About Bottom 

He ought to edit Punch agreed he pleasantly. 

Oh, Oberon will suit him beautifully.” 

They haven’t got a Puck yet,” was the lady’s next 
venture. “ Gladys Coombe wanted to do it, but it wasn’t 
— it wouldn’t — at any rate Lady Coombe wouldn’t have 
it.” 

What a shame ! ” said Bannatyne. Dear Gladys 
is Puck, or was a year ago, when I saw her last. She 
ran at one with her head down like a battering-ram, and 
took me in ” 

I know — in the stomach,” said the lady, her Irish 
accent emerging a little broadly here. She’s fourteen 
and thinks she’s nine. The only way to disabuse her 
mind is to put her hair up and her frock down.” 

“ Do you think that would do it ? ” asked he gravely. 

‘'If it didn’t — ” began she and broke off. “ Here’s 
Kathleen. Kathleen, this is Mr. Bannatyne — Lysander, 
you know. Kathleen’s my elder daughter,” she confided. 

Kathleen, who was fair and whose face beaconed ex- 
citement, flushed prettily, laughed, and held out her hand. 
She was a girl of twenty. Bannatyne let his glance go 
down to her feet. One more must go off the list. 

Kathleen’s mother must have seen his action, and her 
mind took up the idea. 

“ Is there anyone here not wearing boots ? ” she asked 
her daughter vaguely. 

“ Boots ! ” echoed Kathleen in bewilderment, but Ban- 
natyne hastily intervened. 

“ In a company of immortals one does not look to 
find earthly foot gear. What, Oberon and Titania in 
21 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


boots! Perish the thought! Miss Kathleen, you have 
none. I vow I can see none. They are spirited away. 
By the way who are you, if I may make so bold? I’m 
Lysander” 

“ Oh, Pm only one of the fairies,” said Kathleen. 
'' Only ! ” he lifted his hands in deprecation. “ Well, 
fairies don’t wear boots or shoes, or indeed anything, so 
I’m told, and so ” 

Mr. Bannatyne ! ” said Kathleen’s mother with a 
small protesting giggle, but Kathleen was engrossed in 
the movements of the players. 

“ I’m afraid you don’t have much to do with me, if 
you’re a fairy,” said Bannatyne with a sigh. I’m 
handed over to the tender mercies of ” 

“ You have Miss Grant-Summers,” interrupted Kath- 
leen quickly and with significance. She glanced at him 
questioningly, as if to determine whether he was in 
earnest. 

“ Tender mercies of Puck” completed he, “ and 
Puck's not chosen. I wish Gladys had been Puck. 
Couldn’t you be Puck, Miss — ” He had not yet got the 
name, but his blurr and hesitation brought him nothing. 

Kathleen gave vent to her pretty laugh, and shook 
her head. '' I couldn’t take a speaking part. I should 
die of fright,” she declared. 

I don’t see how Kathleen could dress that part,” 
observed Kathleen’s mother contemplatively eying her 
daughter. 

“ Oh, dressing is easy enough. The less you dress 
the better,” said Bannatyne airily. 

22 


Mainly About Bottom 


Kathleen’s glance again reverted to the performers. 
‘‘ I think I’m wanted now,” she said, and moved off in 
her graceful way. 

“ You see, they can’t do without her,” said Bannatyne. 

Let’s be audience and claque.” 

They moved nearer, as he spoke, and came within ear- 
shot. Into the full moonlight with sprightly step danced 
a handsome woman of forty, leaning to a meagerness of 
frame, and breathing deep of her interest and absorption. 

“ * Come, now a roundel, and a fairy song; 

Then, for the third part of a minute, hence; 

Some, to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds; 

Some, war with rear-mice for their leathern wings. 

To make my small elves coats; and some, keep back 
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders 
At our quaint spirits: Sing me now to sleep . . .’ 

“ Mr. Hancock,” she broke off in a shrill voice. 
“ This will never do. I haven’t nearly enough to attend 
on me.” 

“ My dear Lady Coombe, where can we get ’em 
from ? ” replied a little red-and-round faced man perched 
on a fallen branch of the oak. “ We’ve exhausted all the 
youth and beauty of town ! ” 

Titania paused irresolutely previous to lying down. 
“ It’s a great nuisance,” she said fretfully. “ We must 
get some children for Cobweb and so on, and I’ll wire 
to the Traverses in the morning. They’ve got three girls. 
Well, where did I get to ? — oh, yes : 

‘ Then to your offices, and let me rest.’ ” 

23 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


Titania sank gracefully to the earth, enveloped in her 
expensive white raiment. But she sat up the next mo- 
ment. 

“ It’s damp, Mr. Hancock ; I’m sure it’s damp.” 

Indeed it isn’t,” replied the exhausted stage man- 
ager. “ There’s been no rain for a week.” 

“It’s dew then. Really it is, Mr. Hancock. Mr. 
Bouverie, come and feel.” 

The Hon. Peter Bouverie moved deliberately from 
the woman to whom he was talking and obeyed. 

“ I should advise bracken,” he pronounced solemnly. 

“ Oh, nonsense, we can’t wait while you get bracken,” 
declared Hancock. “ It’s really all right, Lady Coombe.” 

“ I know I shall have the green all over my dress,” 
said she, plaintively surrendering. “ Well, now, there’s 
the song.” 

“ We haven’t got the song yet,” said Hancock. 
“ Lock promised it this morning. But we’ll give the 
cue. ‘ So good night with lullaby.’ Now then. Fairy — ” 

The glory of the silver night enriched the scene, and 
shone upon the girl who in obedience to this command 
emerged from her companions. 

“ What a court ! ” murmured Bannatyne. “ What a 
divine riot of beauty ! I wish I lived there.” 

Was it the moonlight that enhanced their looks, or 
was it the romantic setting? These seemed delicious 
spirits of the glade, clad in light vesture, wraiths in the 
dim light, noiseless upon the greensward as they moved. 
Suddenly Bannatyne remembered the shoe. He pushed 
forward with inquisitive eyes. The fairies went softly 
24 


Mainly About Bottom 


to and fro; they stooped above Titania's head, and then, 
in answer to the behests of their leader, flitted into the 
shadows. 

“ Hence, away; now all is well: 

One, aloof, stand sentinel.” 

It was not Kathleen’s voice, but something even more 
musical. They were an attractive court, reflected Ban- 
natyne, and watched them as they flitted. Apparently 
they must all go off his list, for all were becomingly shod 
from Paris. 

The Hon. Peter Bouverie now came forward in his 
deliberate manner and approached the sleeping Titania. 

“ What thou seest, when thou dost wake. 

Do it for thy true love take . . 

The incantation was, however, interrupted by the sleeping 
lady’s protest. 

“ You’ve squeezed something into my eye, Mr. Bou- 
verie. How horrid of you ! ” 

Well, it says you have to — it’s stage directions,” 
asserted O heron, '' Here it is : ‘ Squeezes flower on 
Titania' s eye.’ ” 

'' What flower have you got? ” demanded Titania sus- 
piciously, and now sitting up. 

Oberon opened his hand. “ Only a rose,” said he. 

It’s the dew. I told you, Hancock, there was dew. 
Now, it’s got into Lady Coombe’s eye.” 

I’m very sorry. Lady Coombe, but I can’t control 
the dew. Do let’s get on,” said the exasperated stage 
3 25 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


manager. “ We shall be here all night. If you’d taken 
my advice you would have had the rehearsal properly 
and decorously indoors. But as you haven’t — ” he 
shrugged his shoulders. “ Fire ahead, Bouverie.” 

Bouverie proceeded, and Hancock nodded. “ Exit,” 
said he. 

'' Now enter Lysander and Hermia. Where the 
deuce is — oh that duffer, Ferris, has taken them over 
there. I wish some one of you would go over and tell 
him we’re waiting — one of you young ladies . . . Lady 
Cynthia? Tell him we want Lysander and Hermia and 
Helena'' 

" I’m here,” said Bannatyne in a tiny voice, as of a 
schoolboy answering to his name. 

"Who’s that? That you, Bannatyne?” asked Han- 
cock anxiously. " Glad you’ve come. Well, now we 
want Hermia and Helena. Come along. Run along, 
Bannatyne.” 

Bannatyne went forward into the gaze of the company 
of environing fairies and players. 

" Your cue is ' Vile thing is near,’ Lysander y Han- 
cock informed him. " Now then we needn’t wait. I’ll 
read Hermia." 

Bannatyne began as he entered the circle: 

" ‘ Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood; 

And, to speak troth, I have forgot our way ...*** 

He had reached the sleeping Titania now and bent 
down. " How do you do. Lady Coombe ? What a won- 
26 


Mainly About Bottom 


derfully fine idea of yours, this pastoral play. I’ve been 
getting up my part all this week. Isn’t the ground 
rather hard? It digs into you, you know, when you’ve 
been lying there about three minutes.” 

Titania sat up with animation. “ It’s awfully good of 
you to have come. I thought you might have promised 
the Cardwells for this week. I was glad when I got your 
wire.” 

'' Ly Sander, Lysander!'' called Hancock. Do for 
goodness sake get on, man.” 

'' All right. I’m only just . . . 

* We’ll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good. 

And tarry for the comfort of the day.’ ” 

Hancock gabbled : 

“ ‘ Be it so, Lysander, find you out a bed. 

For I upon this bank will rest my head.’ 

“ Er — well — ^perhaps, we needn’t go on just now with 
that scene,” he continued with some hesitation ; “ Hermia 

isn’t here you see, and ” 

I don’t quite see how it would improve it if she 
were here,” observed the Hon. Peter, who was looking 
over the stage manager’s shoulder at the prompt book. 

** And then we’ve no Puck,*' said poor Hancock, '' and 
our Bottom*s deserted us. What the mischief are we to 
do? ” he asked in despair. “ We’ve got the Titania-Bot- 
tom scenes just coming on.” He raised his voice : Lady 
Coombe, do you think you are sure of getting that sup- 
ply of children for the Cobwebs and Peas — Blossoms ? ” 
27 


A Midsummer Day's Dream 


“What, Mr. Hancock?'' cried Titania shrilly from 
where she was talking with Bannatyne. “ Oh, yes, posi- 
tive, I’m promised them to-morrow by the rector. But 
I wish you’d settle Bottom, Mr. Hancock. We can’t do 
without Bottom, and I particularly ought to have a voice 
in it.” She made her way toward the stage manager, 
and Bannatyne followed. 

“ What’s become of Bottom ? ” he inquired. 

“ Bolted,” said Peter Bouverie, removing the cigar 
from his mouth. “ Took the bit in his teeth this morn- 
ing and bolted. He talked about Norway, but I don’t 
think he’ll really ever come back. He only talked that 
way not to alarm us.” 

Bouverie, between forty and fifty, dark of face, smooth 
shaven, and large of feature, looked out of twinkling gray 
eyes on Bannatyne. He was big and imperturbable, and 
he had a sense of the humorous. So too had Bannatyne, 
but in a livelier and less deliberate form. He gravely 
encountered Bouverie’s eyes. 

“ Is it so bad as that ? ” he asked. 

“ My dear fellow,” said Bouverie, examining his cigar, 
“ I would offer to play Bottom myself, only I’m Oberon, 
a much more important person. I’ve suggested to Han- 
cock that he should take the part, but his reply, I regret 
to say, was improper. I can’t repeat it before gentle- 
men.” 

“ There are one or two ladies we could get,” sug- 
gested Bannatyne. 

“ That remark, Bannatyne, is hardly worthy of you,” 
said Peter. “ I was going on to suggest that Bottom 
28 


Mainly About Bottom 


would suit you, and now I’m sure of it. You shall take 
Bottomry and we’ll give Lysander to one of the youths.” 

But, my good man. I’ve learned my part,” said Ban- 
natyne in despair. “ I’ve got it up by rote, and it took 
me five solid days of work. I’ve never worked so hard 
since I ate my dinners.” 

“ If you’d only come into Parliament, there might be 
some chance of saving you,” said the Hon. Peter ; “ but 
you’re a thoroughpaced, lazy poltroon, and I’ve done 
with you.” 

He turned on his heel as he spoke, only to be clutched 
by Lady Coombe, who had been engaged in excited argu- 
ment with Hancock. 

“ Mr. Bouverie, do protect me. Here’s Mr. Hancock 
saying he can’t get on without Bottom, and he’s going to 
give it to young Mr. Lock.” 

Well, it’s either that or a professional from town,” 
said Hancock moodily. It’s all Valance’s fault. What 
on earth did he mean by turning turtle at the last mo- 
ment?” 

“ Valance was afraid of his own responsibilities,” said 
Peter Bouverie. 

But Mr. Lock really is no good,” protested Lady 
Coombe plaintively. You’ve no idea how unsuitable 
he is.” 

“ He’s better than Walrond or Gay,” said Hancock 
grumpily. The only other thing to do is to reshuffle 
the parts, and I daren’t face the outcry there’d be.” 

I propose Bannatyne,” called out Peter Bouverie. 
‘‘ Anyone second him ? ” 


29 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


“ Fd second him if he’d take it on,” said Hancock 
doubtfully. “ And then we could make Lock or Wal- 
rond Ly Sander ” 

Bannatyne sat down desperately on the fallen branch. 
“ I have already explained,” he began with polite irony, 
” to Mr. Bouverie, my friend on the left, that it has 
taken me a week to ‘ get up ’ Lysander. Now so far 
as my elaborate calculations go, Mr. Hancock, the play 
is fixed for Thursday next in the interests of that de- 
lectable charity, the Cottage Hospital. If I am right in 
my subtraction that gives me just three days. Other- 
wise I would have embraced Bottom,” he concluded with 
a courteous wave of his arm which embraced, among 
other things, Titania. 

“ Well, then Lock it must be,” said Hancock with 
decision. “ He’s the only one left to us. It’s Hobson’s 
choice. I only trust he’s a quick study.” 

He’ll ruin it,” declared Lady Coombe dramatically. 

I’m sure he can’t act. Look at him. Think of his 
hair!” 

‘‘ That might be cut,” said Bouverie reflectively. 

'' But his face ! ” cried Lady Coombe. 

“ As thin as a lath,” said Bouverie. “ I confess I 
don’t see him roaring like the lion. Besides, he’s orches- 
tral manager. He can’t do both. Couldn’t I double the 
parts of Oberon and Bottom, Hancock?” 

“ My dear fellow, . . . don’t be absurd. When both 
of you are on the stage at the same time ! ” 

“ No; I’m blest if we are.” 

'' Act IV, Scene I,” said Hancock scornfully. “ This 
30 


Mainly About Bottom 


all comes of rehearsing without a Bottom. Bottom and 
Titania sleep while you enter. Then there’s the business 
of waking the Fairy Queen.” 

Oh, Fd forgotten,” said Bouverie humbly. “ Well, 
we haven’t got any choice, as you say. We fall back 
on Oliver Lock. There’s nothing in the orchestra busi- 
ness, although he likes to think there is. We shall do 
very well with a comb and tissue paper, and some girl 
at the piano. What’s the use of Lock waving a baton 
and making all that pretense ? ” 

“ Is Lock over there, Bannatyne ? ” called Hancock. 

Any of you ladies seen Mr. Lock ? ” 

A chorus of noes greeted him. 

'' He’s probably indoors,” said Bouverie. “ None of 
those youths came out to-night. They’re too old for this 
sort of thing.” 

“ Well, we shan’t get him to-night,” said poor Han- 
cock. “ So we’d better give up the notion at once. Is 
Hermia coming over. Lady Cynthia? Oh, I say, let’s 
have them all over, and we can do that other act. Look 
sharp now. Where’s Philostratel I say. Burton, bring 
that crowd over like a good chap, will you? Ferris is 
bent on wrecking this show with his airs. Takes off all 
my women, and ” 

Bannatyne slipped away and overtook Bouverie. 

“ Give me your solemn word of honor to speak the 
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, Peter,” 
said he. 

Bouverie eyed him. “ I swear,” he said after a 
pause. 

31 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


Then have you noticed anything peculiar about any 
of the women’s feet to-night ? ” 

Peter Bouverie paused. No,” said he. “ But Fve 
noticed something peculiar about your head.” 

“ What’s the matter with my head ? ” demanded Ban- 
natyne. 

'' It’s cracked,” said Bouverie sadly. 

'' No, it isn’t really,” pleaded Bannatyne. '' I will 
explain' some day. The hour will come when I shall be 
free from my self-imposed vow of silence. But in the 
meantime, you’ve not seen anything odd about the girls’ 
feet?” 

Bouverie’s face wrinkled with thought. ** I noticed 
Miss Merrington limping a little,” he said. ** No doubt 
it’s corns ; she wears extra tight boots.” 

No, I don’t mean corns,” said Bannatyne impa- 
tiently. 

“ Well, I haven’t seen any of their feet to-day,” said 
Peter apologetically. If I’d known you were anxious 
I’d have asked Gladys ” 

Bannatyne clapped his hands. Eureka ! I’ve got 
it ! ” he cried. “ I thank thee, Peter, for teaching me 
that word. Gladys! The imp of mischief! Of course, 
Gladys. I ought to have guessed it. But tarry a little ; 
there is something more. Gladys confesses to fourteen 
and could ” 

“ Is it still bad ? ” inquired the Hon. Peter solicitously. 

“ Oh, go away, Peter,” said he. “ I’m going on a 
mission of my own. You don’t understand anything 
about it — not the least little bit. Where’s Gladys ? ” 

32 


Mainly About Bottom 


If she weren’t Gladys, I should have said in bed, 
where she ought to be. But being Gladys, I should not 
care to guess.” 

‘'Is that your idea of the duties of a godfather?” 
asked Bannatyne contemptuously. “ I wash my hands 
of you, Peter. Also, I will complain to her mother.” 

He turned as he spoke and walked off. “ Lady 
Coombe,” said he, extricating her attention from another 
altercation with Hancock. “ I demand to know where 
Gladys is? Her cruel godfather has handed his respon- 
sibilities over to me. He washes his hands of her, and 
I wash mine of him.” 

“Gladys?” said Titania distractedly. “Oh, yes, 
Gladys is in bed — no, she’s — I think I saw her some- 
where about just now. She’s — Is Gladys over there? ” 
she called wildly to some figures under the oak. 

“ No, Lady Coombe,” came back the answer. 

“ She’s somewhere,” said Titania helplessly, and in- 
vaded the enemy, Hancock, again. 

“ Gladys for a wager,” said Bannatyne to himself. 
“ Where the mischief is that mischief ? I’d better look 
her up.” 

He turned about and began to go across the glade to 
the scene of his meeting with the stout lady. Probably 
Gladys was with the other party. Hancock, noticing 
his movements, hailed him. 

“ I say, Bannatyne, hurry up that crowd over there,” 
he implored. “ It will be midnight ere we’ve started.” 

“All right,” called back Bannatyne. When he was 
halfway across he saw, on glancing back, that he was 
33 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


being followed — and by a woman. He therefore cour- 
teously waited, and presently was joined by the stout 
lady of middle age, who nodded to him in a friendly 
manner. 

'' I’m going for my daughter, Chloe,” she said, the 
slight brogue showing in her abbreviation of the pos- 
sessive. 

I’m sure many people would do that in respect of a 
young lady with such a pretty name,” said he. “ And 
as I also am going for a young lady, let us join forces. 
You find Miss Chloe, and I’ll find Miss Gladys.” 

‘‘ Is it Gladys you’re after ? ” said his companion. “ I 
saw Gladys jumping over the rhododendrons with Mr. 
Fanshaw an hour ago.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Bannatyne, making a mental calculation. 

Then that would have been just before,” he said aloud. 
“ She got hot, I suppose, the minx ! ” 

I don’t wonder at anyone getting hot this weather,” 
said the lady. ‘‘ It’s enough to — ” But here the party 
from the shrubbery met them and they were drowned in 
the advancing tide. 

“ I didn’t know you were here, Bannatyne, till just 
now,” said Ferris heartily. It was clear he was feeling 
triumphant and important. “ How are you ? I say, do 
you know Miss Grant-Summers? No, I fancied not. 
She’s Hermia, you know, so the sooner you know her the 
better. Let me. Miss Grant-Summers ...” 

Bannatyne murmured something about having heard 
of Miss Grant-Summers, and the pleasure of meeting her ; 
and she laughed sweetly. 


34 


Mainly About Bottom 


“ I fear you’ll find me an awful stick,” she declared, 
sweeping him, as he was conscious, with her dark eyes. 

“ As for me you’ll have to pull me up from the 
ground. I shall be rooted,” said he as extravagantly. 
Miss Grant-Summers was amazingly handsome ; but 
Theseus got her the next moment, and he fell out of 
the group. 

“ I can’t see Chloe and I can’t see Gladys,” observed 
an even voice in his ear. 

He started. Now who was this? And why had he 
not managed to find out her name? She stuck like a 
burr. He offered his arm. 

We’ll go in search of them,” said he. “ I suppose 
they’re lost in the woods.” 

“ I hope not,” she said, taking his arm. “ Do you 
mind really? Going up this steep is pretty — ” she 
gasped, and when they had mounted the rise, stopped and 
withdrew her arm. “ Chloe’s probably gone to the house. 
She’s a fairy, too, and she hasn’t anything to say. She’s 
probably gone back, and Gladys too.” 

“ Then we’ll go back too,” he suggested. 

“ But you — ” she protested. You’ve got to rehearse 
over there. They will be waiting.” 

“ Oh, I haven’t anything to say either,” he declared. 

Hancock will probably say it for me . . . among other 
things,” he added pensively. “ The fact is, I can’t leave 
my quest. I’ve taken on the duties of godfather.” 

The lady stared at him without understanding and 
with hardly any interest. 

There’s a nice, short way to the house over here,” 

35 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


she remarked. ** Sir Edward Coombe showed it to me 
to-day.’' 

“ Hum ! ” said Bannatyne doubtfully. “ Don’t you 
think we’d better go by the path through the glade ? ” 

“ Oh, but this is much shorter,” said his companion. 
“ It just goes over that slope and down to the right, and 
through a gate, and you’re there.” 

Bannatyne eyed the wood before them with misgiv- 
ings. An hour or two ago he would have claimed an 
intimate acquaintance with Temple Park. In this be- 
wildering moonlight he had his doubts. 

“ Are you sure ? ” he asked. 

Certain,” said the lady. Sir Edward brought me 
up this evening by it. I’ll tell you what it is, Mr. Ban- 
natyne,” she interrupted herself suddenly. Gladys and 
my Chloe have both gone back with Sir Edward.” 

That’s a solution as reasonable as desirable,” he 
averred. “ Well, let us follow them with a brave heart. 
May I have your arm again ? Thanks so much. Itur in 
antiquam silvam” 


36 


CHAPTER III 


ITUR IN ANTIQUAM SILVAM 

The lady who had chosen to associate herself with 
Bannatyne walked on for some little time in a silence 
which he respected, since it seemed to be a brooding 
silence. She spoke in the middle of a long lane of rho- 
dodendrons. 

'' Mr. Bannatyne, do you think Shakespeare im- 
proper ? ” 

Improper ? ” he repeated critically, as if weighing the 
word. 

‘‘ Yes ; don’t you think he’s rather — You see. I’ve 
just had to read your part.” 

“ Oh, I hope there’s nothing improper in my part,” he 
said hurriedly. I would never forgive Lady Coombe 
if there were. She has no right to compromise me, and 
I’m sure she wouldn’t.” 

''No, I didn’t mean your part exactly,” said his com- 
panion, "though there are bits — but I meant other 
places.” 

" Oh, do you mean that terrible place beginning ” 

"No, I don’t mean that, I don’t think,” interposed the 
lady. I mean — well, I meant generally.” 

" Generally, I think Shakespeare ought not to be read 
— certainly not acted,” said Bannatyne firmly. 

37 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


The lady looked at him doubtfully. “ Fm glad Kath- 
leen and Chloe haven’t speaking parts,” she said at last 
with a sigh of relief. They wanted to very much. In- 
deed, Chloe was quite upset about it. The child was so 
absurd, you know, Mr. Bannatyne; she wanted to play 
Puck. Of course she’s only eighteen. But it was im- 
possible. She doesn’t realize, poor girl. But it wouldn’t 
do at all. Puck's language is so extravagant. Besides, 
as you said, the dress. We go this way, now,” she in- 
terrupted herself to say. “ There’s a big yew tree I re- 
member. Not but what she could have played the part 
very well — Chloe is so awfully clever. And it would 
have suited her figure, too. She’s very slight and boyish. 
She could have worn short skirts below the knee and a 
wand, couldn’t she? Now which way do we go? ” 

She had come to a pause at a division of the path, 
and seemed to appeal to him. The moon, declining, was 
rolling westward through the straight and naked pines. 
Bannatyne looked toward the right and then northward. 

“ The house is down there,” he said. 

“ Oh, yes, now I know — this way,” said his compan- 
ion with confidence, and they swerved to the right. She 
resumed presently with an informal air of abstraction: 
“Do you admire full or slim figures, Mr. Bannatyne?” 

“ I do,” said Bannatyne promptly. “ Very much.” 

The lady looked perplexed. “ But I meant — ” she 
began and suddenly stumbled. Bannatyne caught her. 

“ Thank you so much,” she said, and stared before 
her. “ I don’t remember this,” she declared vaguely. 
“ I don’t think we came this way with Sir Edward.” 

38 


Itur in Antiquam Silvam 


Bannatyne’s misgivings had been justified. He came 
forward to take command. “ There’s a dell down there,” 
said he. “ There ought to be a road out of it, and this 
leads into it. Suppose we venture ? ” 

“ Oh, but are you sure you know the road ? ” inquired 
his friend with some anxiety. 

This was turning the tables with a vengeance, but he 
did not remind her that she had started as the guide. 

All roads lead to home,” he said flippantly. 

“ Well, I shall trust to you entirely,” she said with 
whole-hearted confidence. 

Bannatyne descended alertly, and with his assistance 
the lady followed. The dell, being in a bottom between 
two rises, was in darkness, for the moon did not penetrate 
here, and so it was difficult to determine on a proper di- 
rection. But he made up his mind eventually, and led up 
a rough path which seemed to climb as was desired. 
This brought them into a labyrinth of nut trees over 
which the light shone but faintly, and through which they 
wended their way with some effort. The path was over- 
grown and the lady complained that the branches 
scratched her face. 

“ Only a little farther,” said he encouragingly, but by 
this time his doubts had increased, and in a little while 
it became clear that whatever chance they had had of 
striking the pathway to the house had vanished. They 
were moving in the upper wilderness now and probably 
plunging deeper into its recesses. The moon had com- 
pletely vanished, wrapt in clouds, and the darkness was 
profound. 


39 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


“ I really can’t walk any farther/’ said the lady with 
a sigh. 

“If we go a little farther we can get out upon 
the heath/’ explained Bannatyne, “ and then we’re all 
right.” 

“ But we shall have to walk all that way to the lodge 
by the road,” she protested in dismay. 

Bannatyne admitted the situation. 

“ Very well,” she said desperately, and walked on 
again. 

By this time conversation had dropped, for the lady 
was too weary and top hot, and Bannatyne began to feel 
the responsibilities of his position. He seemed to himself 
a pioneer seeking his fortune in desert places. 

“ If she wasn’t so stout,” he said to himself, “ it 
wouldn’t be so bad. As it is. I’d sooner have — well, 
Hermia or Kathleen.” 

But for lack of these he kept his company, and at last 
bethought him of his part ; it would while away the time 
to repeat it. He did so for some time under his breath, 
but presently the sound emerged into the open. 

“ Hang off, thou cat, thou burr ! Vile thing, let 
loose.” 

The startled lady uttered a cry of dismay. 

“ Oh, what is it ? ” she cried. “ I haven’t ” 

“ I was only rehearsing,” he explained. “ Forgive 
me. I didn’t mean to break out. I was thinking of Miss 
Grant-Summers.” 

The lady sank in a heap. “ I really can’t go any 
farther,” she gasped. “ I’m so hot.” 

40 


Itur in Antiquam Silvam 


But we must go on — we can’t stay here all night,” 
said Bannatyne anxiously. “ It can’t be much farther.” 

You go on, then, and leave me here,” said the lady. 

‘‘ I cannot leave you to starve,” said he gallantly. 

“ But can’t you come back ? ” said she with a touch 
of asperity for the first time in her good-natured voice. 
‘‘ Please leave me, and when you’ve found the way and 
I’ve rested we can go on.” 

“ That’s not a bad notion at all,” said Bannatyne. 
“ Let me arrange this bracken for you, and I’ll leave you. 
There it is. Now you won’t be afraid.” 

“ My dear man. I’m not afraid of anything with or 
without legs,” said she good-humoredly, the brogue ap- 
parent now. “ Just mind your own business, which is to 
find the way out.” 

“ Very well,” assented he. “ Like Puck, I’ll put a 
girdle round about the earth in forty minutes.” 

Oh, don’t be so long as that,” said she. 

I won’t,” he promised, and was leaving when she 
uttered an exclamation of surprise. 

What is it ? ” he asked. 

It’s so fortunate,” said the lady. “ There’s a tiny 
little trickle here and quite a pool of water. It’ll cool my 
face.” She dabbed her handkerchief in it. “ Now get 
along, like a good man, for I want to take off my boots.” 

“ Take off your boots ! ” echoed Bannatyne, coming 
back, arrested by a flashing thought. '‘Did you say, 
‘ Take off your boots ’ ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, I did,” returned she. “ You don’t want to see 
me do it, do you ? ” she asked with good humor. 

4 41 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


“ N-no,” said Bannatyne confusedly. I was only 
thinking — I was thinking of something else. Well, good- 
by. God rest you and be patient.” 

He slipped into the darkness ahead, and was lost to 
sight. The silence now was even greater than that which 
had accompanied him on his former expedition, but he 
went at a swifter pace, since he was no longer impeded 
by his faltering companion. 

“ In such a night,” said he to himself, “ I ought to 
have had the company of some white and beauteous dis- 
tressed damsel, and not — a stout lady of fifty who wants 
to take off her boots.” 

But the word ‘‘ boots ” had been effective ; round 
swung his memory to shoes. It was the second occasion 
that this divestment had happened, and he was associated 
with both. He wondered, as he wandered, how he might 
contrive to discover the owner of the shoe he felt for now 
in his pocket. He looked at his coat. Yes ; the rose was 
still there in all its glory. He took it out and buried his 
nose in the fragrance, and seemed somehow to receive 
encouragement and inspiration. 

“ These woods are bound up with my fate,” he assured 
himself. “ What a night ! Oh, what a night ! ” He 
paused and the breath of the evening came up from the 
valley. “We shall have to abandon the paths and plunge 
headlong down there, at the last extremity,” he thought. 
“ Heavens ! What a task ! She will die by the way, or 
get caught in the undergrowth, or be cut in pieces by the 
brambles, or — ” Imagination could follow no farther 
that way. He tried pleasanter thoughts. Was it possible 

42 


Itur in Antiquam Silvam 


to run to earth the Dryad? But perhaps she was only 
a village maiden who had stolen close to observe the 
party from the Hall. Perhaps she was not even good- 
looking. No one had appeared to lack a shoe, unless, of 
course, it was Gladys. Probably it was Gladys, and then 
— oh, well, the fun was gone. Gladys was too young to 
play Cinderella, though she might play Puck. So Miss 
Chloe had wanted to play Puck. Slim and white 
eighteen had — Stay, was Chloe the Dryad? Would 
not that explain her disappearance? She was probably 
at the Hall, seeking a new pair of shoes. She 

He pulled up. Three paths crossed in a tangle. 
Which was he to take ? He remembered he had already 
taken two turnings almost recklessly. And now the 
choice was thrust on him again. Providence, Destiny, 
Fate, was behaving like a rogue, like Puck, in short. 
Puck seemed to possess these woods. He was tempted 
to spin a coin and trust to luck, not Puck ; but discretion 
is the better part of valor, and he hesitated. The affair 
was getting beyond the boundaries of a joke, and he had 
left a poor lady in the heart of the Wilderness, awaiting 
his return and succor. He chose very carefully, and 
went on his way whistling. 

^Hf it goes down, I shall come up,” he said to him- 
self. “ The only chance is the heath now.” 

Well, to pass the time, he had better resume his part. 
He began. The moon shone again brightly, striking 
deeper shadows. He looked at his watch and found it 
eleven o’clock. 

** These woods are bewitched,” said he. I shall yet 

43 


A Midsummer Day's Dream 


come across the real Titania and Cobweb and Mustard- 
seed. How does that part go? Let me conceive Miss 
Grant-Summers hanging on my arm. 

“ ‘ How now, my love ! Why is your cheek so 
pale?”’ 

He declaimed the line with feeling, and, as he did so, 
turned a corner. Before him stood a figure, dim like a 
ghost in the twilight, and poised in the act of flight with 
amazed alarm. Bannatyne’s voice died and his step fal- 
tered. He could make out now that this was a young 
girl of a slim suppleness, and that she was in white mus- 
lin, and hatless. He guessed at her looks, but then the 
background was ravishingly romantic. 

Please, can you tell me the way out ? ” he said, hat 
in hand. 

She gave a little sigh of relief, as of one realizing that 
the peril was past. 

“ Yes, easily,” she said quickly. “ I’ve just come up 
from the park. It was so beautiful ! It’s only just along 
here.” 

Thank you so much, if you would,” said Banna- 
tyne. '' It would be a great mercy. I’ve been wander- 
ing in this wood for several days. I am really a disem- 
bodied spirit by now.” 

She laughed faintly. '' It is a perplexing place,” said 
she, with demure distance in her voice. “ I’ve lost myself 
more than once, when I didn’t know it so well. I believe 
Sir Edward Coombe’s great-grandfather made the Wil- 
derness as a joke.” 

“ If I remember aright, he was fond of practical 

44 


Itur in Antiquam Silvam 


jokes,” said Bannatyne. Didn’t he construct a bathing 
pool you couldn’t get out of ? ” 

“ Did he ? ” She laughed with that irrepressible 
laugh that comes of natural gayety and is tempered by 
convention. 

Yes; they filled it in, in favor of the present much 
less romantic pool. You know it?” 

‘‘ Oh, yes. I’ve bathed there — this morning,” she 
added. 

“ And I was stifling in a train,” said he, sighing. 

She walked on in silence for a minute or two, ob- 
viously thinking out a new topic of conversation. She 
was very young, Bannatyne decided, and she was de- 
murely pretty, he could see. They went down a path 
through which the moon struck, turning it into a. lane 
of light. On each side the bushes were wrapped in 
luminous darkness. Shadows of pearl moved in the 
silence, and the great masses of the bracken were spectral 
gray. 

“ I suppose you’re staying at the Hall ? ” said Banna- 
tyne presently, as she did not find her voice. 

“ Oh, yes,” she answered, and then, hesitatingly, 
and you, too ? ” 

If we ever get there, yes,” he assented. My name’s 
Bannatyne.” 

Oh, Ly Sander \ ” she ejaculated impulsively. 

“ Lysander,” he admitted. “ And you ? ” 

“ Oh, I haven’t any part — at least it’s of no conse- 
quence,” said the girl. Suddenly remembrance came to 
Bannatyne, and he peered over and down at the earth. 

45 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


“ What’s the matter ? ” asked his companion. “ Is there 
anything ? ” 

“ Nothing of consequence,” he assured her. “ I was 
only looking. May I tie up my lace? I think it’s got 
loose.” 

She stopped without speech, and he knelt and fumbled 
ostentatiously with his boots. Now that he was on this 
level he could make out in the dimness what he wanted. 
Alas! another hope had disappeared. This was not the 
Dryad; she wore sensible walking boots. He felt he 
would become an expert in foot gear presently. Mur- 
muring his apologies, he got up. The Dryad was a hum- 
bug. She was only Gladys, after all. As he rose, his 
companion, who had been considering in her demure way, 
said : 

“ My name is Merrington.” 

Of course, it was tit for tat, confidence for confi- 
dence, but he was no wiser. 

“ Of course,” he said gracefully. “ And an excellent 
goddess of the machine Miss Merrington is to a poor 
benighted wayfarer. Hark ! is that the stream ? ” 

They halted, and Miss Merrington, after a moment 
or two of examination, showed signs of embarrassment. 
“ I — I,” she began tremulously, “ I really think we must 
have gone past the place. I don’t remember these chest- 
nuts.” 

As she spoke his nostrils were filled with the strong 
scent of the Spanish chestnut blossom. 

Oh I ” he said with dismal cheerfulness. “ Then 
suppose we go back ? ” 


46 


Itur in Antiquam Silvam 


I think perhaps we ought to,” she said reluctantly. 
“I remember the turning quite well. It was near a 
rhododendron.” 

'' My dear Miss Merrington,” he groaned, Fve been 
walking by rhododendrons for three weeks, as near as I 
can make out.” 

“ Fm awfully sorry,” she said penitently, and, as there 
was no more to be said, they retraced their steps. They 
walked a hundred yards and came to a cross path, and 
here they had an argument. Bannatyne maintained that 
they had come along the lower path; Miss Merrington 
that they had come by the upper. 

I remember the yews,” said he stoutly. 

I remember the pines,” said she as firmly. 

“ Well, Puck has us again,” he concluded with a sigh. 
Puck ! ” she echoed in wonder. ^ 

Yes, Robin Goodfellow has been guiding me all this 
evening. He's rare sport. He’s given up housewives 
and other silly work, and has taken to the play. He’s 
rehearsing, too. Don’t you know he has to lead me a 
dance with Demetrius'^ He’s begun too soon. I sup- 
pose he’s been stage-struck ; all that rehearsing over yon- 
der has got into his head. I wonder where the mischief 
he is. I’d like to ” 

He stopped as his glance fell on Miss Merrington. 
“ I don’t know, though. It isn’t bad fun, is it ? ” 

What isn’t ? ” she asked in perplexity. 

Oh, being lost,” he answered. 

** But we’re not lost,” she declared firmly. Fm quite 


sure- 


47 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


“ Fve been lost all the evening,” he said recklessly, 
and Fm now beginning to like it.” 

But she was looking in dismay at a track that had 
emerged stealthily and noiselessly on their right. I — I 
don’t seem to remember this,” she stammered. 

It was true, then; he was lost once more. But the 
company was different this time. 

'‘What does it matter?” he said joyfully. ''Puck 
is at it again. He’s made another mistake, that’s all. 
You know he mistook Lysander for Demetrius, Well, 
now he’s mistaken you for — for Hermia, I suppose. I’m 
quite content.” 

He hummed an air, and struck at the leaves with his 
stick; but the girl did not share his complacency. 

“ I am afraid — Fve led you — I think we must have 
gone wrong,” she said nervously. “ I could have been 
positive about the path, because I only came in a little 
way just to — well, I just ran in and some one was wait- 
ing for me.” 

Bannatyne looked at her gravely. “ Then you are 
Hermia,” he said. “ Some one told me her name was 
Miss Grant-Summers, but that was an invention. You 
ran away from Demetrius, the brute, and have found the 
real Lysander. Puck has not blundered this time.” 

“ Oh, but I didn’t run away from anyone,” she stam- 
mered, and he knew she blushed. “ I only — that is, I 
meant to go back. I just came in to — to see how the 
moonlight — ” She did not finish. 

“Well, how does it?” he asked nonchalantly. Ban- 
natyne sat down as he spoke, but she remained standing. 

48 


Itur in Antiquum Silvam 


‘‘ You ta)<e this too seriously, Miss Merrington. It 
is all in the night’s work. If you are Hermia, it’s obvious 
the best thing we can do is to go through our parts in 
the forest.” 

But I’m not Hermia,' she protested. '' I’m only a 
fairy.” 

''A fairy is quite good enough for me,” he said in- 
dulgently. “ It ought to be good enough for anyone. 
And as there doesn’t seem any chance of getting any- 
where in particular, I beg to propose that we don’t try, 
but just sit here till some one comes to us.” 

'' Oh, but we mustn’t — we can’t — it’s getting late,” 
urged the fairy in distress. 

Do you admire my rose ? ” he asked inconse- 
quently. 

Miss Merrington moved a little nearer, and he made 
room for her on the bank. She sat down reluctantly. 

It’s very beautiful,” she said at last. “ Did you get 
it off that bush on the little lawn ? ” 

No,” he said thoughtfully, '' I didn’t, but it came 
from there, of course. Perhaps the gardener would 
know,” he added, musing aloud. 

The gardener ! ” said the girl. “ But how can we 
find him?” 

“ Oh, he must find us,” he declared airily. 

But — but we can’t stay here until he does,” she sug- 
gested diffidently. 

'' Why not ? ” he asked indolently, for he had begun to 
tire. “ And if he never comes, we have a peaceful death 
in store. We shall be like the babes in the wood, and the 
49 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


robins will cover us. They begin to sing next month. 
I wonder if a sleep would refresh us.” 

Miss Merrington jumped to her feet hastily. “ I am 
going on/’ she declared. 

He rose deliberately. “ Well, I trust to your guid- 
ance,” he said with a sigh. 

“ That isn’t fair ; oh, that isn’t generous ! ” she said, 
with a little display of spirit. 

He considered. No, I don’t think it was. But, you 
see, I have a companion on my mind.” 

A companion ! ” she repeated. 

“ Yes ; I abandoned my partner in misfortune to find 
the way.” 

Oh, how sickening for him ! ” she said. 

“ Oh, I think she’ll be all right,” he declared easily. 

“ She ! ” Miss Merrington was silent. She began 
to go slowly along a path. “ Who was it ? ” she asked 
presently. 

“ I have no earthly idea,” he confessed. ‘‘ But she 
was charming beyond usual. She lost me.” 

“ She lost you ! ” 

Yes, just as you — I mean, of course, I lost her.” 

Miss Merrington was silent again, and they went on 
for ten minutes in this fashion. The moon was full in 
their faces. 

Miss Merrington at last came to a halt once more. 
“ This is worse than ever,” she averred in a melancholy 
voice. “We seem to be getting higher, instead of lower.” 

“ There’s no getting over it,” said Bannatyne. “ We 
shall have to camp out. After all, it is only the real 

50 


Itur in Antiquam Silva m 


thing. Herniia and Lysander did. They pillowed their 
heads ” 

'' I’m not Hermia,” said Miss Herrington crossly. 

Bannatyne looked at the imperturbable moon. 

“ Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,” he quoted. 

Miss Herrington turned on him with petulance. 

Oh, you don’t seem to see how serious it is ! ” she cried. 
“We are quite lost ! ” and here she burst into tears. 

Bannatyne was at once in quite another mood. He 
soothed her. “ Now, do sit down one moment, while we 
consider,” he said. “ There’s nothing like two heads for 
puzzling out problems. That’s right. The moon is there 
— that’s the west; the house must therefore be there — 
that’s the north. If we abandon the paths we can pick 
our way down through the bracken to the open park 
pretty easily. Are you game ? Of course your dress ” 

“ I don’t mind a bit about my dress,” said the tearful 
fairy, drying her eyes. 

“ That’s right ; and now, if you’re rested, we’ll be 
starting.” 

The girl rose, and came to him lithely. Now that he 
saw her in that fullness of light she was overyoung — 
not more than eighteen. He took her hand and put her 
arm in his. 

“ We will go, ‘ thorough bush, thorough brier,’ ” he 
said. “ Isn’t that your part ? ” 

“ No,” she said weakly, but yielding herself to him. 
“ That’s Lady Cynthia’s. I don’t speak at all.” 

“ What a shame ! ” he said, and was leading the way 
into the rough wood. But she was comforted now by his 

SI 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


masterfulness, and the reaction from her own fears. She 
looked upon the crisis as at an end. 

I did want to play Puck, but, of course, they wouldn’t 
let me,” she said timidly. 

“ Puck,” he echoed, brought up suddenly by a recol- 
lection. “ You wanted to play — Why, then ” 

But he was interrupted by a human voice, by a shout 
that rang in the woods. 

'' Miss Herrington ! Miss Herrington ! ” 

Mr. Walrond ! ” she exclaimed excitedly. It’s Mr. 
Walrond. He’s found me ! ” 


52 


CHAPTER IV 


CHLOE 

Miss Merrington withdrew her arm and made a rush 
toward the voice. 

'' This is ‘ most intolerable, and not to be endured,’ ” 
said Bannatyne to himself. “ Who is this cockerel ? ” 

A shadow emerged and fell on the pathway, and it 
was the shadow of a young man. Bannatyne followed 
the girl in her flight. 

Oh, thank goodness, you’ve come, Mr. Walrond ! ” 
She was gasping with fervor. 

'' I add my indebtedness,” said Bannatyne with a bow. 

An eyeglass dropped from the young man’s face as he 
examined the speaker. It was as if he asked audibly. 
Who the deuce are you ? ” 

'' I nearly gave you up,” said he, pointedly ignoring 
Bannatyne. I say, did you lose your way ? ” 

''Yes,” said she. "Wasn’t it foolish of me? I 
seemed only to have gone about a hundred yards, and I 
was certain I could find my way, and then I met this — 
Mr. Bannatyne, and he’d lost his way ; and then — well, I 
got fearfully muddled, and we were in despair.” 

Mr. Walrond inserted his eyeglass again. " An aw- 
ful nuisance, "losing your way,” he said languidly. 

Bannatyne judged him to be about four-and-twenty, 
and he was certainly very conscious of himself. But 
53 


A Midsummer Day's Dream 


what he might be under that heavy veil of awkward van- 
ity he could not say. Perhaps he was a very decent fel- 
low. Anyhow, it was best to go on that assumption to 
start with. 

“ Well, now we’re in safe hands at last,” said Banna- 
tyne, sighing his relief audibly. He took off his Panama, 
as if with content. Is it far? ” he asked. 

''No; the park’s just below,” said Mr. Walrond. 
" It’s only these beastly cross-paths. But they’re really 
pretty easy when you know them. It’s down here. Miss 
Merrington. Allow me.” 

He offered her his assistance in a determined manner 
as he spoke, and she accepted it. They turned down a 
smaller track which Bannatyne had not noticed. 

" You seem expert,” said he to their guide. 

" Well, I ought to be,” said the young man, adjust- 
ing his neat Trilby hat. " Look out for these ruts. Miss 
Merrington; they’re awfully treacherous in this light. 
Best lift your feet well.” 

It was true. Bannatyne was rocking and reeling in 
the path behind them; but Walrond now had Miss Mer- 
rington’s arm firmly in his. It was a reversal of condi- 
tions which did not appeal to Bannatyne. The fairy was 
being ravished from him. " Would you mind not going 
quite so fast? ” he pleaded. " I can’t quite see my way,” 
for the moonlight did not enter these close precincts. 

" Sorry,” said the young man, and paused momen- 
tai ily and perfunctorily with his slender charge, and then 
went on. 

Bannatyne heard the undertones of a conversation in 

54 


Chloe 


front, and to his suspicion ears it sounded intimate. 
“Awfully cruel of you.” . . . “Waited half an hour.” 
. . . “ You needn't have ... I didn't mean . . .” 

It was exasperating. He had played the first role up 
till now, and here he was left to trail behind as he liked, 
of no significance, while lovers babbled together imder 
his nose, unheeding. Flirtation such as that was effron- 
tery' ; it was unblushing. Who the mischief was Walrond 
with his airs? He thought of demanding an answer to 
this haughty question. The cooing of the doves was un- 
endurable. The murmur went down the path before him. 
Suddenly a flash of remembrance Ut up his mind. He 
hailed them. 

“ Would you min d stopping a Httle, please ? I — I've 
lost some one,” 

Walrond stopped, and Miss Merrington, hanging 
on his arm, stopped also, and both turned their heads. 
They had evidently almost forgotten his existence, he 
reflected bitterly. He could just see them through the 
gloom in that association of propinquity. 

“ Lost some one ! ” echoed the young man vaguely. 

“ Yes, I've lost a lady,” explained Bannatyne. “ I've 
just remembered her. I came to find the way out, which 
through the good fortime of meeting you I have done.” 

“ Of course, there's your lady,” observed Miss Mer- 
rington. 

“ WTiere is she ? ” inquired Walrond. 

“ I don't think I know,” answered Bannatyne truth- 
fully. “ But she’s somewhere up near the heath, waiting 
for me.” He paused, as if inviting an offer of assistance, 

55 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


but none came. It was clear that the news was not wel- 
come to Mr. Walrond. I must get hold of her some 
way.” 

That’s all very well,” said this implacable guide. 
But unless you can say where she is, how can we get 
to her ? Who is it ? ” 

“ She’s a stout lady of maturity,” said Bannatyne 
slowly, who wears a dress, if my eyes mistook not, of 
a green substance, inserted with white lace, and a rather 
too large picture hat, and she has an Irish accent.” 

Lady Herrington ! ” said the young man. 

'' Mamma ! ” cried Miss Herrington simultaneously. 

‘‘ Then you’re Miss Chloe, of course,” said Banna- 
tyne, as facts forced themselves together of a sudden in 
his mind. I’ve been hearing quite a lot about you.” 

“ The point is,” interposed young Walrond bluntly, 
how are we to find Lady Herrington? We’ll go back. 
Miss Herrington,” he went on addressing his companion 
with the air of excluding and ignoring Bannatyne, and 
look her up. I know these woods like my ABC, and 
we’ll soon find her.” 

This was sheer braggadocio ; and, besides, it was use- 
less. Bannatyne took a hand. 

'' I think, if you don’t mind, as Miss Herrington is 
naturally tired with her wanderings, I will take her home, 
and you can go in search of Lady Herrington more ex- 
peditiously, and without encumbrances.” 

The suggestion seemed to bewilder Mr. Walrond; he 
struggled with his politeness, but civility won. More- 
over, this audacity gave him pause. 

56 


Chloe 


'' Well, you see, I couldn’t go alone, because I wouldn’t 
know her whereabouts,” he said. “ We’d better all go.” 

'' That will be nicer,” agreed Bannatyne. Of 
course, if Miss Herrington is not too tired,” he added. 

Oh, I’m not tired,” she assured him coldly. “ Poor 
mamma ! ” 

There seemed to Bannatyne to be some reproach in 
this, which he did not consider just. 

“ Whereabouts did you leave her, do you think ? ” 
asked Walrond. 

Bannatyne considered. “ Well, it was much higher 
than this. I’m sure,” he said ; “ and I came down from it 
by about ten different paths. And it was near some 
beeches, I think, and — Oh, yes, she was sitting in a 
pool of water.” 

'' Sitting in a pool ! ” cried Miss Chloe indignantly. 
“ How could you ? ” 

“ Well, she wanted to,” said Bannatyne weakly. I 
left her dabbling in it. She was going to take off ” 

“ It’s no good talking,” interruped Miss Chloe firmly. 

We’ve just got to act.” 

‘‘ I’m quite willing to act when I get marching orders,” 
said Bannatyne meekly. 

We’d better make a start,” said young Walrond in 
a bluff tone. “ Go ahead, please.” 

Bannatyne turned about, set his face to the Wilder- 
ness once more, and began to ascend. Surely he was 
doomed never to return from those nocturnal fastnesses. 
He knew he was in disgrace ; these two young people had 
sat in judgment on him and condemned him. He was 
5 57 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


practically ostracized, save for the small amount of cere- 
monious civility that conversation demands. 

“ They make me feel so old,'’ he reflected sadly, “ and 
I’m only thirty-five — ^a mere boy, really. Heigho I ” 

“ Perhaps you will be good enough to select a route,” 
he suggested to Walrond when they encountered the first 
crossways. 

But young Walrond had no hesitation. “ This will 
take us upward,” he said, and turned his attention to 
Miss Chloe. 

Bannatyne now lagged behind as they mounted. ‘‘ It 
would serve them right if I ran away and left them — and 
mamma,” he thought ; and I would, for two pins. But 
I wonder if I could find my way alone. Better not risk 
it. No ; let duty triumph. Let us save mamma.” 

“ Did you say it was near some beeches ? ” called out 
young Walrond. 

“ I did,” returned Bannatyne, with as much satire as 
he could squeeze into the two words. 

Oh, then, if there was water, I know it. We’re not 
far off,” said Walrond confidently. 

“ There, now,” said Bannatyne cheerfully, “ if Lady 
Merrington hadn’t sat in the water we shouldn’t have 
found her.” 

“We haven’t yet,” reminded Mr. Walrond grimly. 

“ Avaunt these doubts ! ” said Bannatyne. 

They wheeled about a right angle. “ The identical 
spot, I believe,” he declared with some excitement. “ Is 
anyone there ? ” he called. 

“ Lady Merrington ! ” called young Walrond. 

S8 


Chloe 


“ Mamma ! ” called Miss Chloe. 

There was no answer. It isn’t the place,” said Wal- 
rond in despair. 

“ It is — I will swear to it in an income-tax return,” 
persisted Bannatyne. “ There was the bank, and there 
the pool.” He walked across. 

'' She’s got tired of waiting and wandered away, and 
is lost,” said Chloe miserably. 

Her remark was succeeded by a violent exclamation 
from Bannatyne, who came tumbling over the bank and 
fell with a splash into water. Simultaneously there was 
a perturbed voice exclaiming : 

'' What is it ? Go away, Hagan ! ” 

“ Mamma ! ” cried Chloe in ecstasy. She darted for- 
ward. 

Bannatyne picked himself up slowly and examined his 
garments. 

“ I thought it was Hagan knocking,” Lady Merring- 
ton was explaining confusedly. “ Fm sorry — I suppose 
I dropped off. Where’s Mr. Bannatyne? Was it an 
earthquake? I must have fallen out of bed. . . . Some- 
thing kicked me very — Good gracious, Chloe, child, is 
it you ? ” 

'' Oh, mamma, Fm so glad we’ve found you ! I 
thought we never should,” cried poor Chloe. 

Lady Merrington rose to her feet with difficulty, and 
with the aid of young Walrond. 

Who’s this? ” she asked. “ Oh, is’t you, Mr. Wal- 
rond ? I’m glad you came. Where’s Mr. Bannatyne ? ” 
I’m here,” said Bannatyne mildly. 

59 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


“ It was good of you to go and get a relief party/’ 
said the lady kindly. I must have dropped off — ^the 
warmth, you know.” 

I think I dropped off too,” murmured Bannatyne 
to his clothes. “ I certainly didn’t guess she would be 
asleep.” 

He adjusted his wet coat, and found himself now in 
juxtaposition with Walrond, for Chloe and her mother 
were following together. Young Walrond’s tone had 
sensibly altered. 

“ I’m awfully sorry you had that fall,” he said 
sympathetically. Who could have told she was 
asleep ? ” 

“ As you say, who could have told ? ” said Bannatyne. 

The accident had its value. It is a moral lesson. I 
should not go about rescuing distressed damsels.” 

Walrond gazed through his eyeglass, but seemed to 
decide not to touch this doubtful point. Indeed, he gave 
a faint laugh, as of one who is appreciative. 

“ I didn’t know you were Mr. Bannatyne. I didn’t 
catch your name before/’ he said at last. 

Was this, then, the result of his discovery? Banna- 
tyne wondered. 

I once shot over your place with a friend of mine,” 
pursued the young man amiably. “ He rented it.” 

“Ah!” said Bannatyne. “Was that Staffordshire, 
or perhaps Hampshire ? ” 

“ No ; it was Stockowen,” said Walrond. 

“Ah, yes; Stockowen. And is it very charming? 
They tell me it is a beautiful place, and the house is hand- 
60 


Chloe 


some. I hope you found the house handsome and com- 
fortable.” 

Young Walrond stared. “ Oh, I — Yes, thanks — 
awfully, I think so,” he said stammeringly. 

“ Stockowen ! ” murmured Bannatyne dreamily. “ I 
hope some day to go there. Perhaps I shall go there 
when I die. I was once quite close to it. Indeed, I may 
say I very nearly saw it. And it’s pretty, is it ? ” 

“Awfully jolly!” said the confounded young man. 
Why, here was a strange and reckless person, surely — a 
man who, though he owned several fine estates, did not 
know them, at least confessed himself a stranger to one. 
It invested Bannatyne with a sort of amplitude; it en- 
larged him; he gained in significance and in bearing. 
Looked at now in this new light, his air was regal. This 
indifferent appropriation of sovereign honors could not 
but add to his importance. Young Walrond was pleased 
to be walking in such good company ; he was impressed. 

“ We ought to have a jolly time rehearsing,” he re- 
marked with a glow of satisfaction. 

“ Yes,” said Bannatyne, turning to him. “ You 
play ” 

“ Quince” said Walrond ; “ Quince, you know. Of 
course, it’s not a very important part, but there’s some 
good stuff in it, isn’t there ? ” 

“ Very good stuff,” assented Bannatyne. 

“ Of course, I’m not very keen on the part,” continued 
Walrond, now in the mood for confidences. “ I should 
have liked a better part, and Bottom outplays one, don’t 
you know. Besides, it’s a bit undignified, don’t you 
6i 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


know. And, well — Fd like to have been in a bit with the 
ladies. We haven’t got one in our lot.” 

“ No,” said Bannatyne sympathetically ; it’s only 
Bottom who has luck. He has Titania” 

“ Oh, I don’t particularly envy Bottom'* said young 
Walrond frankly. “ He’s — you see. Lady Coombe’s my 
aunt.” 

“ So that’s how you know this confounded Wilderness 
so well,” said Bannatyne. “ It was puzzling me. I’m a 
pretty good hand at topography myself, but I’ve no head. 
Turn me round three times, and I get dizzy, and don’t 
catch anything or anyone, except, of course, dryads.” 

Dryads ! ” said Walrond in a puzzled voice. 

Dear me, there’s the fire-bell. We move from sen- 
sation to sensation,” said Bannatyne, as, far away, rising 
as if from some secluded and embowered dell, streamed 
a resonant clangor on the night. “ Let’s run.” 

Lady Merrington and her daughter were close behind 
them. 

“ It isn’t fire,” said young Walrond. “ It’s only 
supper. They arranged to give warning that way 
with the alarm bell, so as they could hear it in the park 
rehearsing.” 

“ Then let’s run all the more,” said Bannatyne pleas- 
antly. “ Give me your hand. Miss Chloe,” and ere she 
could gainsay him, he had snatched her from her mother’s 
protection, and was gayly tripping down the moonlit path. 
Lady Merrington looked after them complacently. 

‘‘ They make a fine couple, Mr. Walrond,” said she 
ruminately. 


62 


Chloe 


“ Fm afraid Miss Merrington will be horribly tired,” 
he observed coldly. 

“Tut! she’s well enough,” said her mother. “ If I 
can run, she can. Give me your hand, Mr. Walrond.” 

The young man extended his with unperceived reluc- 
tance, and they began to jog down the pathway in the 
wake of the others. 

“ Supper,” said Bannatyne to his lady, “ is the one 
thing I love above all others. When I am shaving, in 
the early dawn, I am looking forward to it. Does this 
jig you about too much?” 

“ Ye — No,” said Chloe, gasping. 

“ Keep tight hold of me, hold your breath, and strike 
out confidently,” he enjoined. 

Chloe giggled faintly. “ I — I think we won’t go 
quite so fast,” she panted. “ I’ve not got — much — breath 
— now.” 

“ We’ll stop at once, fairy,” said he, and reduced the 
pace to a walk. “ Now I’m going to let you into a secret. 
You can’t galumph. I’m going to teach you how to 
galumph. First, can you galumph?” 

“ What’s galumph ? ” inquired Chloe, laughing. Her 
laugh was as pretty as Kathleen’s. 

“ This is galumphing,” said he. “ Two little steps 
on each foot, on the toe of the foot — the ball of the foot, 
rather. Now try, if you have your breath, and we’ll 
skim down to the open park like winking. There’s noth- 
ing like galumphing for getting over the ground. And it 
eases you, too. Now — ” He tucked his arm in hers, 
for in galumphing that is necessary, and they began. 

63 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


'' Two skips on the ball of the right foot — ^two on the 
left, repeated ad infinitum. Now — ” They galumphed. 

Chloe Herrington laughed her girlish laughter on the 
wind, and, as it were, on the wings of the wind they flew 
down the white way. The musical trill came back to 
Walrond as he piloted Lady Herrington in the rear. 

“ Chloe’s very merry,” observed her mother. '' Fm 
afraid I can’t go so fast. Hr. Walrond,” she panted. 

Walrond was not merry. “It’s a wonder Hr. Ban- 
natyne hasn’t married,” she resumed. “ He must be 
five-and-thirty.” 

Walrond wished devoutly that he had married. 
“ He’s rather getting on,” he said moodily. 

“ Pshaw, he’s only a boy,” said the lady. “ What do 
you lads know of ages? I suppose you think I’m old 
enough to be your grandmother.” 

Young Walrond wished to say that he did not think 
about it, but he was anxious to please Chloe’s mother and 
refrained from the rejoinder. Besides, they were now 
emerging into the park, and Bannatyne and his compan- 
ion had come to a pause and were awaiting them. 

“ Hamma, can you galumph? ” called out Chloe joy- 
ously. ^ 

“ Galumph ! ” said Lady Herrington doubtfully. 

“Yes; Hr. Bannatyne’s been teaching me how to 
galumph, and it’s delightful. We came down that last 
part awfully fast ; didn’t we. Hr. Bannatyne ? ” 

“ Like a motor car, like a — ” Bannatyne, who had 
been feeling in his pockets, suddenly stopped. “ It’s 
gone ! I’ve lost it ! ” he said. 

64 


Chloe 


‘‘ What have you lost? ” inquired Chloe with interest. 

“It jumped out of my pocket, no doubt, ’’ he con- 
tinued ; and in a whisper : “ Please don’t desert me. I 
must find it. Stand by me. I wouldn’t lose it for the 
world.” 

“ What’s the matter ? ” asked Lady Merrington. 

“ Please don’t let me keep you,” said Bannatyne. 
“ You and Mr. Walrond go on. I’ve only dropped some- 
thing, and Miss Chloe is going to help me to find it.” 

“I’ll help, too,” said young Walrond. “What was 
it?” 

“ No ; you’re going to take me on,” said Lady Mer- 
rington firmly, her Irish brogue uppermost. “ Didn’t you 
tell me that was the supper bell ? ” 

Poor young Walrond yielded reluctantly, but hatred 
was in his heart, particularly for Bannatyne. Chloe did 
not even notice his departure. 

“ What is it ? ” she asked of Bannatyne, her breath 
coming fast still with her recent exertion. 

“ Come.” He took her hand. “ Let’s go up the path 
slowly. ‘ The moon shines with a good grace.’ If you 
see anything strange, whisper to me,” he said myste- 
riously. “ Indeed, perhaps you’d better point.” 

“ Point ? ” she said wonderingly. 

“ Yes, point, like a pointer, you know,” said he. “ A 
pointer points with his tail and with his nose. Of 
course, you couldn’t point with your tail, but you could 
point with your nose.” 

Chloe was seated on the grass. “ Mr. Bannatyne, 
you’re just talking nonsense,” she said — “ awful non- 

65 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


sense ! And I don’t think it’s at all nice of you to refer 
to my nose.” 

“ But your nose is charming,” he assured her. “ I’ve 
been admiring it ever since I met you, up above there. 
You can point all the better with a charming nose.” 

You know it — it turns up a little,” said Chloe hesi- 
tatingly. 

'' I’d like to see the man that dared say so,” said Ban- 
natyne fiercely. “ It’s sweetly tip-tilted, not turned up. 
It’s like that fabled petal of the flower. If anyone men- 
tioned ‘ turned up ’ to me ” 

Hadn’t we better- begin ? ” said Chloe in some em- 
barrassment. 

“Yes, please. Now you keep that side, and we’ll 
crawl up, so that we can see the ground better.” 

“ Oh, but I can’t crawl,” protested Miss Merrington. 
“ It would ruin my frock, and, besides, it would hurt, 
and it would make one’s hands show lines and horrid 
redness.” 

“ Let me see your hands,” said he, and took one, in- 
specting it gravely. “Yes, the line of life goes strong; 
so does that of the heart. You’re destined to a ” 

“ Oh, do tell me, Mr. Bannatyne ! ” she urged excit- 
edly, as he stopped. 

Bannatyne pushed his hair back in thoughtful per- 
plexity. “ Now, do you know, I always forget what that 
does stand for. I know it’s something important. In 
fact, it’s vital — that combination. It means either early 
death, or a rich marriage where love is not, or ” 

“ I don’t believe you know,” said Chloe tremulously. 

66 


Chloe 


That’s just what I’m saying,” he declared. I don’t 
know. It means either ” 

“ I’m going to look for — what did you say you’d 
lost ? ” interrupted Miss Herrington brusquely, and then 
a thought dawned on her. “ I don’t believe you’ve lost 
anything,” she said indignantly. “ I believe you’ve been 
pretending all along.” 

“ I assure you, I spoke the truth,” said he earnestly. 
“ Not but what I should be excused for pretending to 
prolong this delightful companionship. But, indeed. I’ve 
lost a — well, I can’t exactly tell you. It wouldn’t be 
quite right. But if you see anything that strikes you as 
^ suspicious, call out.” 

He began to move up the pathway, with his head bent, 
peering as he walked. Chloe followed him, still in some 
doubts, and wholly in perplexity. Her head fairly swam, 
but she did not know that she disliked it. Certainly her 
heart had galloped far quicker since she had met Mr. 
Bannatyne. She seemed to have gone through a full 
cycle of emotions. She was glad her mother had taken 
Mr. Walrond away. He was really rather tiresome, and 
he was so young. As these thoughts passed through her 
head confusedly, her eyes alighted on something. 

“ Oh, here’s something ! ” she called out. “ It’s a — a 
shoe, I think.” 

“ It’s mine,” said Bannatyne promptly. 

“ Oh, but it’s a woman’s shoe ! ” said Chloe, picking 
it up. 

Excuse me — mine,” said he, taking it from her. 

‘‘ Do you collect shoes ? ” asked Chloe with a laugh. 

67 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


“ A shoe,” he corrected. “ I collect a shoe.” 

Chloe Merrington looked at him in bewilderment, in 
which was also a sense of amusement. She knew that 
he was “ funny,” and was prepared to giggle at him, but 
she did not quite understand. 

Bannatyne put the shoe in his pocket. “ It was gal- 
umphing did it,” he remarked. “ I should never have 
forgiven myself if — By the way, it isn’t by any chance 
your shoe, is it. Miss Chloe ? ” he asked suddenly. 

Chloe stammered. “ Oh, no — not — of course not ! ” 
“ Fm sorry,” he observed with a sigh. Never mind. 
It’s some one’s. Murder will out; so will shoes. Now 
let’s get on. How’s the appetite? Mine’s been clamor- 
ing since seven o’clock, and is in a beast of a temper. I 
wonder if Peter Bouverie will have eaten all the supper ! 
Goddess, what a night ! ” He stretched his arms to the 
descending, impassive moon, and Chloe watched him with 
interest. He turned about to her, as if remembering un- 
expectedly. 

I’ve never thanked you for the find. Please register 
me as your emphatic debtor. I’ll pay up when called 
upon. I’ll pay at sight in any medium desired. You 
have prevented my heart from breaking. Don’t strange 
things happen. Miss Chloe ? What a night ! Goddesses 
and nymphs and fairies peopled that wood this night — 
particularly dryads. Do let us get on, or we shall lose 
our supper. Shall we gdumph? Oh, no; I forgot. I 
mustn’t. But I’ll do anything else for you. Miss Chloe. 
I’ll carry you, if you will.” 


68 


CHAPTER V 


THE SUPPER TABLE 

Bannatyne and his companion reached the Hall 
when the supper was in full swing, and the room was 
full of babble and laughter. He emerged from the 
shadows of the courtyard into the lights behind Miss 
Chloe, and glanced rapidly about the table. It seated 
some thirty people, who were all engaged in eating and 
chattering and drinking. The shadows of several silent 
footmen wavered on the dark wainscoting of the Eliza- 
bethan room. Out in the courtyard the moon shone still, 
and contended with the candles in the mullioned windows. 
Bannatyne emerged, a man of somewhat over middle 
stature, near by thirty-five, of a robust freshness of com- 
plexion, fair of coloring, and free and clear of eye. That 
clarity of blue eye was wont to engage those newly ac- 
quainted with him most and first of all. He looked frank, 
and added to that frankness of heart and voice, a touch 
of whimsey, a quizzical expression that was also attract- 
ive. Offhand he looked a charming fellow. 

Bannatyne and Chloe found places without calling 
upon themselves undue attention. She slipped bashfully 
into a chair he pulled out for her, and he seated himself 
beside her. The table was fairly ahum. Bannatyne 
noted with approval the girl’s prettiness in the stronger 
69 


A Midsummer Day's Dream 


revealing light. There was immaturity naturally, but a 
bud is often more beautiful than the blown flower. Per- 
haps Chloe would open beautifully too. He devoutly 
hoped so, as he looked at her, and then a servant dumped 
down plates before them. 

I can’t make out mine,” he said, peering with one 
eye shut at the dish. '' What have you got? ” 

Chloe shook her head, laughing. “ I think it’s 
something of chicken,” said she. '' But I'm only 
guessing.” 

Open your mouth and shut your eyes, and let me 
give you a morsel, and guess again,” he suggested. 

She shook her head again, again laughing. 

Well, if I wasn’t hungry I don’t think I should eat 
this,” he went on, turning it over with a fork. It looks 
suspiciously like — Now, do tell me — you know every- 
thing and everyone — Miss Chloe, do tell me who that is 
two doors down on the opposite side of the table.” 

Chloe glanced across to where a young man lolled 
back in his chair, clean shaved, and delicately pale of 
face. His proportions were slender, his color almost 
feminine; he had a distinctive air at once of confidence 
and of shyness; and his hair, which was of a beautiful 
fairness, was somewhat long for fashion. 

“ Oh, it’s Mr. Oliver Lock,” said Chloe. He’s 
awfully clever.” 

“ What’s he clever at?” inquired Bannatyne. 

Oh, he paints, and he writes poetry, and he plays 

and composes ; and he studies philosophy ; and ” 

'' There isn’t any more, I hope,” said he. 

70 


The Supper Table 


“ Well, he’s a composer most of all,” she said, laugh- 
ing. 

'‘To his various accomplishments he has now to add 
acting, I understand,” said Bannatyne. 

“What’s he going to play?” inquired Chloe with 
interest. 

“ Bottom^ said Bannatyne solemnly. 

Chloe Herrington stared at him, and then suddenly 
and mysteriously exploded with laughter. She sat back 
in her chair, and, inserting her lace handkerchief between 
her teeth, shook all over her slim young body. 

“ If there’s any joke. I’m afraid I’ve missed it,” said 
Bannatyne reproachfully. 

“ Oh, it isn’t a joke,” panted Chloe with renewed 
symptoms of hysteria. “ It’s only so funny.” 

“ I’m glad if I’ve amused you. Miss Herrington,” said 
Bannatyne, with an excellent assumption of stiffness. 

Chloe came back quickly to seriousness. “ Oh, it 
wasn’t you, Mr. Bannatyne, really,” she said earnestly. 
“ I wasn’t laughing at you, indeed. It was the idea of 
Mr. Lock playing Bottom. It’s too funny.” 

Bannatyne’s neighbor on the other hand turned round 
to them, attracted by the laughter, and he saw it was 
Miss Arden. She had been busily engaged in talk with 
Ferris. 

“ You’re late in, Mr. Bannatyne,” said she sweetly. 
“ What became of you ? Mr. Hancock was in such a 
state when you couldn’t be found.” 

“ I didn’t get my call,” he explained. “ And, besides, 
I lost my way. Tell me, did Hermia take on? ” 

71 ' 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


Miss Arden laughed. She was fair and pale, and in 
her dead white gown gave the effect of whiteness and 
purity. 

“ I don’t think she minded so much as Mr. Hancock,” 
she answered. 

“ Then she ought,” said he indignantly. She ought 
to have minded, more than all the others put together. 
I’ll — I declare. I’ll turn to Helena ! ” 

A faint color flushed Miss Arden’s cheeks. ‘‘ Well, 
Lysander does — doesn’t he ? ” she said lightly. But 
that is only under the influence of magic. His heart 
never really strays from Hermia” 

“ It’s all a question of magic,” Bannatyne assured 
her. “ What sends men to women’s feet but magic ? I 
don’t pretend to understand,” he declared with a gesture 
of despair. I merely recognize facts — don’t I, Miss 
Chloe? ” 

Miss Arden regarded Chloe with her cool eyes. 

Miss Chloe rescued me from death in the forest,” 
he explained. 

“ How delightfully romantic ! ” said Miss Arden for- 
mally. Her face was slightly averted as she. listened to 
some remark of Ferris’s, and the profile, the curves of 
chin and jaw, were wonderful in their delicate decision. 
Bannatyne admired as he gazed. He looked round and 
found Chloe’s eyes on him. 

“ Isn’t she sweetly pretty ? ” murmured Chloe. 

She’s — she’s angelic,” he declared thoughtfully. I 

wonder why Lysander was such a weathercock ? Do you 
like men who are weathercocks. Miss Chloe ? Don’t trust 
72 


The Supper Table 


them ever. Men who don’t know their own minds are 
worse than — well, worse than men who do. Why didn’t 
Hermia miss me ? ” 

Chloe watched his face. “ Do you admire Miss 
Grant-Summers ? ” she asked, 

“ Immensely — inordinately,” said Bannatyne, helping 
himself to some wine. Is she not ray Hermia, and have 
I not chosen her? I have not, by the way, exchanged 
more than two sentences with her, and I never set eyes 
on her till to-night. But what odds is that ? Love 
laughs at locksmiths, and recognizes no laws of common 
sense. If it were sensible, it would not be love.” 

'‘What awful things are you saying?” asked Miss 
Arden, turning her head. 

" Miss Chloe and I were discussing love,” said Ban- 
natyne calmly and untruthfully explanatory. “ I am of 
the opinion that love lasts forever, if it be true love. 
Miss Chloe, on the contrary, is of the opinion that love 
lasts only a day, and that you may be allowed to love as 
many people and as many times as ” 

" Oh, Mr. Bannatyne, how can you say such things? ” 
burst in Chloe with flaming cheeks. " I never spoke 
about it at all. It was you. I never opened my mouth.” 

“ I wish you would, child, for you’ve eaten absolutely 
nothing,” said Bannatyne with solicitude. 

The color did not wholly retreat from Chloe’s face. 
It wavered and hung there faintly as she obediently fol- 
lowed Bannatyne’s advice. Miss Arden scrutinized the 
yoimg girl, but her face expressed nothing. She smiled, 
indifferently challenging in her smile, at Bannatyne. 

6 73 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


“ Lysander was a fool,” he confided to her. ‘‘ He 
was a fool, to begin with, for imagining he preferred the 
advertising beauty of Hermia to the moonlight charm of 
Helena] and he was a fool, in the next place, because, 
when he had come to know better, he hadn't the strength 
of mind to stick to it. ‘We needs must love the highest 
when we see it,' Miss Arden, and that fatuous, empty- 
headed Lysander deliberately turns his back on — I 
think ril get Lady Coombe to let us play a revised and 
up-to-date version of Shakespeare.” 

Miss Arden laughed her cool laugh, and fidgeted 
softly, but not too nervously, with her bread crumbs. 

“ You are too absurd,” she said. 

From the other end of the table Bannatyne had now 
been discovered by Hancock, also by Sir Edward Coombe. 

“ The villain is over there,” he heard Bouverie say. 

“ Bannatyne ! Bannatyne ! ” called Hancock furiously. 
“ What on earth made you play that trick on us ? ” 

“ Wretch ! ” said Lady Coombe from another end of 
the table. “ Hermia was disconsolate.” 

Voices menaced him ; it seemed as if the whole table 
had broken out on him. A little way olf, on the other 
side, he could see Miss Grant-Summers, who had been 
arrested by the discussion. She was looking toward him, 
her lips parted, a smile on her face, undisturbed and self- 
possessed, her rich beauty richer than he had imagined, 
seen in that setting. She was amusedly interested in the 
scene, and she waited for his rejoinder. There was never 
a woman so sure of herself as Miss Grant-Summers ; and 
surely there had been rarely a woman more beautiful. 

74 


The Supper Table 


Vigilance was in her eye, command in the sweep of her 
throat and neck. As he met her glance momentarily 
Bannatyne wondered involuntarily if she had a mind. 
He was sure his neighbor, Helena, had. She had a 
serene, cold intellect somewhere ; she was wholly superior. 
Was Hermia? It was not possible to tell. She was 
bright with every property and faculty of woman — some- 
where, he guessed, near seven-and-twenty, an admirable 
age. He knew no more. 

The attention of the table was upon him. Bannatyne 
sipped his wine. Sir Edward, ruddy of shaven face, 
good-natured, placid, and fifty, raised his glass from the 
distance. 

“ Didn’t see you, Bannatyne. Glad you’ve come.” 
He went through the forms requisite to drinking to his 
guest. 

Bannatyne bowed, and drank to him. Then he set 
down his glass. “ The fact is. Lady Coombe,” he said 
grimly, “ that Wilderness of yours is haunted.” 

Haunted ! ” said several interested voices. 

“ Yes, distinctly haunted,” he repeated. “ I am al- 
most a wreck. I have no strength to tell the tale, but 
Lady Merrington will no doubt do that far better. She 
knows. Ask her.” 

What’s it haunted by ? ” asked Chloe, her eyes bright 
with the interest which he had managed to inspire in her. 

‘‘ Pretty girls ! Hush ! ” he said in a whisper. 

Miss Grant-Summers was looking across, still with 
her pleasant embracing eye. Her dark eyes smiled, and 
then she was swept into conversation by her neighbor. 

75 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


Suddenly there was a wave of commotion. Chairs were 
pushed back and creaked, plates clattered, and there was 
the sound of rustling dresses. The company broke its 
containing order and drifted in indecision, chatter, and 
chance. Bannatyne passed along the room, greeting a 
friend at intervals. It was Bouverie who arrested him 
at last, tapping a cigar case interrogatively. 

'' By all means,” said he, nodding. “Now I come to 
think of it, I believe IVe been bewitched. IVe not 
thought of smoking for hours.” 

“ There’s probably some truth in what you say,” said 
Peter Bouverie, eying him in his lazy way. 

“ Oh, there’s Lady Fallowfield ! I must pay my re- 
spects,” said his friend, and made his way toward the 
door, where stood an elegant woman of five-and-forty in 
conversation with their hostess. She greeted Bannatyne 
with the frank smile of one who knows her own mind and 
is accustomed to reveal it. 

“ This is perfectly charming ! ” said he, taking her 
hand in both of his. “ This is charmingly perfect. I 
didn’t guess — I only hoped. Lady Coombe kept me in 
ignorance, I suppose for a surprise. And you’re play- 
ing, I hope ? ” 

Lady Fallowfield shook her head, laughing. “ Not 
I, my friend. Cynthia is.” 

“ Cynthia? ” he echoed. “ Not the Cynthia I remem- 
ber, in short frocks ? ” 

“ The very Cynthia,” said the countess, and called 
over her shoulder, “ Cynthia ! ” 

From a little group a girl detached herself and came 

76 


The Supper Table 


toward them. She was tall, brown of tress, of a gentle 
fullness, and moved as lissom as a panther. 

Not Cynthia, this ! ” cried out Bannatyne in aston- 
ishment. 

“Cynthia, do you remember Mr. Bannatyne?” said 
Cynthia’s mother, smiling. 

Cynthia looked uncertain. 

“ Lady Cynthia, do remember me,” he pleaded. 
“ Can’t you recall an objectionable person with a swelled 
head, who stayed with you ten years ago — is it ten years. 
Lady Fallowfield? — and who was of opinion that the 
world was made for him, and that his opinions were made 
for the world ? Oh, I can see myself so well then. Lady 
Fallowfield! I was twenty-five, and folly. And there 
was a certain little girl who escorted me safely to church, 
and put me courteously in the old square pew.” 

Lady Cynthia’s face lighted up. “ Oh, yes, I do re- 
member you quite well ! And you fell asleep, and I was 
afraid you — you would disturb the ” 

“ It was very hot,” said Bannatyne reproachfully. 
“ You might have made allowances for that. And when 
you say you were afraid I’d disturb — of course you mean 
wake — the other worshipers, you are insinuating that I 
snored.” 

Lady Cynthia blushed. “ No, I wasn’t, Mr. Banna- 
tyne, really. I remember only being afraid you would 
snore.” 

“ You might have trusted to my discretion,” he said, 
and regarded her with the open interest of his usual ex- 
pression. 


77 


A Midsummer Day$ Dream 

Her eyes were firm and quick ; she had that in com- 
mon with her mother; but they were as two-and-twenty 
to twice those years. 

“ I begin to feel old,” said he with a mock sigh. 
“ When I see charming young ladies whom I remember 
with long hair, long, legs, long ” 

“ Please no more disclosures,” interrupted Lady Fal- 
lowfield, laughing. 

“ And what does Lady Cynthia play ? ” asked Banna- 
tyne. 

“ Oh, I’m only one of the fairies,” returned the girl. 

I’m the first fairy in attendance.” 

Of course, it must have been you I saw rehearsing,” 
he remarked. 

“ Cynthia, love, bed,” said the countess. 

‘‘ Yes, mother,” replied the girl obediently, and passed 
on with a little smile and bow. Behind her another girl 
of her own age, but short and slighter, came with a little 
excited rush. 

“You remember Sylvia Latham?” said Lady Fal- 
lowfield. “ That’s her daughter. You’re going to bed, 
Kitty ? ” she said to the girl, as she passed, with a shy, 
embarrassed air. 

“ Oh, yes,” said Kitty, with a nervous little laugh, and 
disappeared. 

“And what is Kitty?” asked Bannatyne. “I seem 
to have seen Kitty before.” 

“ Oh, she’s a fairy, too,” said Lady Fallowfield. 

“ Wonderful fairies ! ” he said rapturously ; and after 
a pause, “ I wish they’d let me play Titania” 

78 


The Supper Table 


Lady Fallowfield laughed, but checked herself to say : 
'' Isn’t it quite absurd Lady Coombe’s playing that part ? 
At her age, too ! ” 

Dear lady, I wish you would give me the chance of 
playing Oberon to your Titania,” he declared. 

Lady Fallowfield’s face sparkled with an access of ani- 
mation. 

“ You don’t really,” said she, but I like to hear you 
say it; you lie so well. No, Titania should have gone, 
of course, to, say. Miss Grant-Summers, or Miss Arden, 
or, well — or Cynthia even.” 

“ Lady Cynthia would fill the part admirably,” he 
agreed. 

“ It’s part of her inordinate vanity that she must 
keep all the pretty girls in attendance on her,” pursued 
the lady aggrievedly. “ It would be annoying if it 
weren’t so laughable.” 

“ So many things would be annoying if they weren’t 
laughable,” he said. ‘‘ That’s the use of laughter.” 

“ Good night ; I’m tired,” said his companion abruptly, 
as she was wont. Her actions were as confident as her 
tongue. She nodded in a friendly fashion, for she liked 
Bannatyne. “ There’s sure to be some fun to-morrow. 
The whole thing’s preposterous, you know.” 

I know it is. I’m so glad it is,” called out Banna- 
tyne as she went. 

In the smoking room the men collected preparatory 
to retiring. Peter Bouverie stood, his long legs parted, 
with a big cigar in his mouth, his back to the window 
and the moon. 


79 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


“ If we hadn’t sworn an oath I would have broken it 
to-night,” said he to the company generally. 

“ What oath have we sworn ? ” inquired Bannatyne 
anxiously. ''Not not to fall in love, I hope?” 

" Not to play bridge,” said Madgwick gloomily. 

" Why did you swear that silly, self-denying ordi- 
nance — which, however, will do you a great deal of good, 
Bouverie ? ” inquired his friend. 

" Lady Coombe made it a point of honor,” said he 
solemnly. " She said we should do nothing else if we 
once took to it, and she wanted us to do nothing but re- 
hearse. Consequently you see us rehearsing.” 

" I didn’t quite see you. I heard you,” said Bannatyne. 

" Bannatyne’s anathema. I’ve cursed him with bell, 
book, and candle,” observed Hancock, who was turning 
over the leaves of an illustrated paper. 

Ferris yawned, and indolently put out his hand for 
a cigarette. His overhandsome face was dashed with 
superciliousness. He had just emerged from a fracas 
with Hancock, in which he had been worsted. It had 
concerned the stage management of the first scene, on 
which, as Demetrius, Ferris had decided ideas. 

Hancock, a brisk little, dark, red-complexioned man, 
with a round, smooth face, who was supposed to follow 
the calling of a barrister, and who actually had chambers 
in the Inner Temple, threw aside his paper suddenly. 
" I’ll tell you what,” he said. " You fellows will have to 
get letter perfect to-morrow. There are only three days, 
and there’s the devil of a lot to get through. I’m not going 
to trust to your promises. Bouverie, you’re all right.” 

8o 


The Supper Table 


Bouverie bowed leisurely. “ I always am.” 

“ You’re not bad, Ferris, if you didn’t try to throw 
in so much mucky sentiment.” Ferris ignored this. 

You’re all out of it, old man ” ; this to Captain Madg- 
wick. And what the devil Bannatyne can do, or can’t 
do, is more than I can say, not having had the privilege 
of listening to him.” 

I’m awfully sorry, Hancock, but I’ll begin now, if 
you’ll hear me,” said Bannatyne, jumping to his feet. 

“ But this Bottom business is the worst of all,” went 
on Hancock gloomily, paying no heed. “ It fairly knocks 
the heart out of one. The most important part in the 
piece vacant! Think of it! Ye gods! By the way, 
where’s Lock ? ” 

“ I saw him out on the lawn,” said a young man, 
'' smoking a cigarette.” 

Just fetch him in. Gay, will you?” said Hancock, 
and added in a lachrymose way : We must settle it some- 
how. It’s sheer madness ! ” 

As they debated the point, gloomily entered, one hand 
in his pocket and the other holding a big volume of phi- 
losophy, young Oliver Lock, blue-eyed and indifferently 
conscious of himself. He wore an up-and-down collar 
with a wonderful furniture of scarf in an artistic hue. 

O Lock ! how does the music go ? ” asked Hancock. 

Fair,” said the young man in an offhand voice. He 
placed his book on the table and lit a cigarette. “ That’s 
to say I’ve got two pretty good fiddles, and I think I can 
get a ’cello, besides the piano.” 

” What about the songs ? ” asked Hancock, 

8i 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


Oliver Lock pursed his mouth into position, and whis- 
tled a stave without any expression or emotion in his face. 
“ I’ve done two,” he said casually. “ Do another to- 
night.” 

‘‘ Good ! Then that finishes them,” said Hancock in a 
businesslike way. “ That clears the road for us. Let 
me have ’em to-morrow, first thing, and Lady Cynthia 
and the others shall get into rehearsal at once. No time 
to lose. And now. Lock, I know you’ve a quick memory. 
You’ve got to play Bottom.” 

Oliver Lock looked up, arrested, and interested now 
for the first time. Bottom! ” he echoed with some con- 
tempt in his voice. “ How absurd ! I don’t act ! ” 

'' Yes, but you’ve just got to,” persisted Hancock au- 
thoritatively. “ We’ve lost Valence, and we can’t go on 
without Bottom. Come now, you can get into the skin 
of the part to-morrow morning, and it won’t interfere 
with your music.” 

The young man stroked back his hair with self-con- 
scious carelessness. I won’t do anything of the kind,” 
he said. 

“ Good heavens, man, you must ! ” argued the unfor- 
tunate Hancock. “ We shall be in an awful hole other- 
wise.” 

“ You’ve plenty of people to play Bottom” said 
Oliver Lock indifferently. “ Get one of them.” 

‘‘ They’re all fixed. You’re the only disengaged man. 
You’ll simply have to do it. Why the mischief won’t 
you?” 

“ It’s not consistent with my personality,” said Mr. 

82 


The Supper Table 


Lock with dignity, and, without more ado or even a good 
night, sauntered out of the room, book in hand, cigarette 
in mouth. 

“ May I be dam — ” began Hancock with deliberate 
viciousness. 

“ It’s probable your play will be,” said Bouverie 
serenely. 

Hancock made a helpless gesture with his hands. 

“ Inspiration dawns on me,” remarked Bannatyne, sit- 
ting up. “ Let us follow Shakespeare ; we can do no 
better than walk in the footsteps of the master.” 

Bouverie looked at him interrogatively. “ What on 
earth are you driving at ? ” said Hancock impatiently. 

“ Why, this, O mutton-head. When Theseus wanted 
a pastoral play, did he not go to the village and engage 
rustics? Why, then, now that Lady Coombe wants a 
pastoral play, should we not take example from the Athe- 
nian king? ” 

You mean ” 

“ I mean, find a Bottom in the village. Til lay there’s 
half a dozen there, blushing unseen.” 

Hancock mused. “ Not half a bad idea,” he said after 
a pause ; and mused again. “ An admirable idea ! ” he 
declared a little later ; and then : “ But we ought to have 
thought of that before — I mean, for Quince and Snout, 
and all the rest of them.” 

“ You can find another Quince, if you like ; I don’t 
mind,” said young Walrond from his corner. 

7^ I’m not keen on Snout,” said Gay in his best Oxford 
voice. “ I think Mr. Bannatyne’s is an excellent idea.” 

' 83 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


“ Don’t be fools ! ” said Hancock swiftly. “ How 
am I to get a parcel of rustics to get up the parts 
and rehearse ’em, and lick ’em into condition in 
three days? No; I might manage Bottom, if we can 
hit upon a good man. We might have a search to- 
morrow morning, Bannatyne. If we can’t. I’ll have 
to wire for a professional. And that would spoil 
sport.” 

“ We’ll form ourselves into an investigating commit- 
tee,” said Bannatyne. “ Send a commission to the vil- 
lage to find Bottom. ‘ Bully Bottom, I believe ’ ; ' How 
I found Bottom, by Joseph P. Hancock, Barrister-at-Law 
of the Inner Temple.’ ” 

“ I wish you’d been Bottom, Bannatyne,” said Han- 
cock regretfully. “ If I’d only known . . . but Lady 
Coombe would have it all her own way; and here’s the 
result. I’m going to bed.” 

He finished his whisky and soda quickly and departed, 
and the smoking-room party broke up with offhand ex- 
changes of good night. Bouverie accompanied Banna- 
tyne up the stairs. 

“ We’re west wing,” he explained. “ You’re a few 
doors from me. It must be one, or after. I never felt 
so sleepy. I suppose it’s the air, or the moonlight, or 
perhaps the supper.” He leaned on a sill of one of the 
mullioned windows that looked out across the park to the 
sinking moon, the bright heaven, and the shadows of 
the hills beyond. 

There’s seething discontent among Bottom's lot,” 
he said. It’s by way of being my fault. I came upon 

84 


The Sniper Table 


innumerable young men here, with commensurate airs 
and graces, and I didn’t know one from t’other. It’s 
Lady Coombe’s whim. She’s ‘ wonderful partial ’ to 
young men, assumably to keep relations with the past — 
an unclouded past, we know. But Oxford collars and 
Oxford manners, not to mention Oxford voices, started 
in me what is, I believe, vulgarly known as the pip. I 
got the pip — ” His deliberate voice ceased, and he 
seemed to contemplate the romantic night. ‘‘ So I sug- 
gested to Lady Coombe that it would adequately meet 
the necessities of the situation if the young men were 
grouped together as the rustics.” Again he paused. 

Not a bad idea, was it ? ” 

“ A master-stroke,” agreed Bannatyne, yawning. 

The advantages of the artifice are patent,” pursued 
Bouverie. I am relieved of the nuisance, and they are 
all in a state of suppressed insubordination. That was 
why Valence bolted. These young men stand upon their 
dignity more than we of maturer years do. Bottom 
bolted, as I say, and all the others would throw up their 
parts for two pins.” 

“ You seem to have intrigued most successfully,” said 
Bannatyne admiringly. 

‘‘ I didn’t do badly for a new hand,” said Peter Bou- 
verie with modest pride. “ I suppose it’s being in Par- 
liament gives one confidence, and teaches one diplomacy. 
Well, you’re going to turn in, I suppose. The night’s 
good, but bed’s better. Good night.” 

He swung away slowly, and left Bannatyne staring 
out into the park. 


85 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


“ The night’s good,” he repeated abstractedly. “ The 
night’s amazing. 

‘ I heard the trailing garments of the night . . 

No ; it’s oversilent now. ^ Clothed with night as with a 
garment ’ — ^that’s better. " Clad in the beauty of a thou- 
sand stars.’ No; the moon banishes the stars, and is jus- 
tified of her act. One single segment moon is worth a 
thousand twinkling stars. Good night, beloved . . .” 

Across the courtyard a light shone in a window. 

“ Now, if I kissed my hand to that,” said he thought- 
fully, “ it would probably turn out to be Sir Edward 
Coombe. But, on the other hand, if I don’t, it is sure 
to be my dryad.” He broke off, and straightened him- 
self. “ Good Lord, I’ve forgotten. My quest ! where 
was Gladys ? ” He turned. “ In bed long since, no 
doubt, and wanting a shoe. So perish all romantic 
dreams! Either a village Audrey or Gladys, unfledged, 
feathering Gladys.” 

Bannatyne passed down the corridor toward his room, 
and, as he did so, came upon a footman who stood aside 
to let him pass ; but he did not pass. Can you tell me 
where my room is, please ? ” said he, and added his name. 
The man directed him. “ Thank you,” said he in his 
suavest tones ; “ and now, one particular thing I want to 
know : what size is Miss Gladys’s boot ? ” 

The servant stared at him in astonishment, which, 
however, ebbed swiftly from his well-controlled face. “ I 
am sure I don’t know, sir. But I’ll ask the maid, sir,” 

86 


The Supper Table 


“ Thank you a hundred times, I wish you would,” said 
Bannatyne. 

He went to his room, and two minutes later, as he 
was undressing, there was a knock on the door. He 
opened it, and the footman stood there, tall, impressive, 
and imposing. 

“ Small sixes, if you please, sir,” said he. 

Small sixes ! ” said Bannatyne reflectively ; ‘‘ would 
that be very big, or very little ? ” 

“ Fm sorry I don’t know, sir,” said the footman, re- 
spectfully apologetic. 

We are really very ignorant, when you come to 
think of it, aren’t we ? ” said Bannatyne, “ particularly 
about things that matter, like sizes of women’s boots.” 

Yes, sir,” said the footman. 

“ Oh, well, that will do, thank you,” said Bannatyne, 
and nodded “ good night.” 

The man returned the farewell and shut the door 
softly. Bannatyne resumed his wondering. 

He took the shoe from his pocket and examined it 
carefully under the light. “ Small,” he summarized his 
impressions. “ Either a very young girl, or a medium 
girl with an elegant foot.” He turned it over, and his 
eyes rested on a figure which had been almost rubbed 
away. He thrust it nearer to the light. 

“ Fives ! ” he declared, with a sense of triumph. It’s 
not Gladys’s. I can rest in peace now. But it may be — 
no. I’ll not believe it. It’s neither Gladys’s nor Audrey’s. 
It’s just my dryad’s, and I’ll run her to earth yet. And 
so to bed.” 


87 


CHAPTER VI 


THE LADY IN THE BEDROOM 

Bannatyne walked to the window and looked out 
upon the darkling park, strewn with great trees and di- 
versified with smooth sward. Round a bend in the ascent 
to the Wilderness, the moon shone silverly upon a sea of 
bracken that flowed in the night wind. He breathed con- 
tentment in a deep sigh, and, opening one of his bags, 
took out a book. It was a volume of Rossetti, and as 
he turned the pages he lighted a last cigarette. 

“A deep, dim wood; and there she stands 
As in that wood that day; for so 
Was the still movement of her hands, 

And such the pure line’s gracious flow.” 

He paused, got into bed, and read again: 

“Dull raindrops smote us, and at length 
Thundered the heat within the hills — 

That eve I spoke those words again 
Beside the pelted window-pane; 

And then she hearkened what I said, 

With underglances that surveyed 
The empty pastures blind with rain.” 

“Wonderful! wonderful!” sighed Bannatyne appre- 
ciatively. “ ' The empty pastures blind with rain.’ It is 
88 


The Lady in the Bedroom 


Rossetti’s very finest poem. Magnificent ! ” He ad- 
justed the book to the light : 

“Last night at last I could have slept 
And yet delayed my sleep till dawn, 

Still wandering. Then it was I wept: 

For unawares I came upon 
Those glades where once she walked with me, 

And as I stood there, suddenly. 

All wan with traversing the night. 

Upon the desolate verge of light 
Yearned loud the iron-bosomed sea.” 

Bannatyne let the hand that held the volume drop, and 
looked at the ceiling ruminatingly. He was in a mood 
attuned to sentiment, and he could see the glades in which 
that dead woman had once walked. 

“ O Heart, that never beats nor heaves. 

In that one darkness lying still ...” 

He could have wept like the poet. The moonlight 
took the glades of Temple Park, where other lovers had 
walked ages since, other lovers whose hearts also were 
silent and had gone “ seaward a hundred sleeping years 
ago.” And they who walked the glades to-day would 
in their turn pass into silence. It all assumed the tragic 
cast of a phantasmagoria of fleeting shades — the full 
oaks, the cold moonlight, the pomp of life, the elusive 
ghosts in the amphitheater of bracken, the pretty fairies 
under whose bodices beat hearts not silent, but loud with 
every human emotion. ... In that deep, dim wood many 
had walked to-night. . . . There were Demetriits and 
• 7 89 


A Midsummer Day's Dream 


Helena. He let his thoughts roam over Miss Arden, 
tried to remember her Christian name, and could not. . . . 
Then, with a start, he found he was falling asleep with 
the light still ablaze. He got up to switch off the cur- 
rent, and set his book on a chair. As he did so his eyes 
rested on the shoe. 

“ Fives,” he murmured, and took it up ; then care- 
fully placed it by the book on his chair. “ Who knows ? ” 
said he, following his whimsey. “ Romance is here im- 
plicit ; it greets me on the threshold. The shoe has earned 
its company with the poet.” 

It pleased his sentimental mood to associate the poems 
and the shoe. He would open a crusade on the morrow, 
and no Cinderella should escape him. Then he remem- 
bered that he had left the rose in his coat, and extracted 
it delicately. He poured a little whisky from a flask into 
a glass and filled it up with water. The rose would fade, 
and it had a duty to perform. He would keep it fresh 
as long as possible, at the risk of “ making it a tippler,” 
as he said. 

“ Women,” he reflected, “ are most preposterous hum- 
bugs. I know exactly what it is. My observations have 
been useless this night. Of course she went away and 
obtained another pair of shoes at once, and, equally of 
course, she would not betray herself. The only person 
Fm quite sure of is Lady Merrington. I eliminate her. 
But after her I wander in a fog. It might be anyone — 
even, yes, even Chloe. There’s no trusting women. 
They’re a pack of hypocrites. They never show what 
they feel, and they never feel what they show. I believe 
90 


The Lady in the Bedroom 

it’s Helena. I — ” The idea caught him. “ I should 
rather like it to be Helena, with her cold, white beauty.” 
He sighed. 

Then he went back to his bed, listened as he thought 
he heard footsteps pass his door, turned out the light, and 
sank into his pillows. He was asleep within ten minutes. 

Bannatyne awoke stupidly to semiconsciousness. 
Was it morning? Had he been called ? Was it the dawn 
that gleamed on the windows? Obviously it was not, 
for his window faced to the west. A slight noise struck 
on his sharpening senses, and he sat up. Some one was 
in the room. 

“ Who is that ? ” he demanded quickly. 

For answer the chair by his bed clattered, the door 
flew open, and some one dashed through it with a swish 
of skirts. Bannatyne was out of bed in a moment, and 
almost by instinct put forth a hand for the chair. The 
shoe was gone, and as this fact reached him he was 
struggling into his dressing gown; and even as he did 
that he was halfway to the door. He was now as wide 
awake as anyone in this world could possibly be. He 
flung into the passage, slipperless, and, pausing only mo- 
mentarily for news of the fugitive, raced swiftly along 
the corridor of the west wing. 

The light was thin, merely that suflFusion of the am- 
bient moonlight that pervades such a night. Bannatyne 
could make out nothing ahead of him — it was all va- 
cancy ; but he had information of the thief in a fluttering 
of raiment and a patter of feet that reached him. He 
ran on, and then, losing the sounds, stopped suddenly. 

91 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


Was he too late? Had his prey taken refuge in one of 
the rooms hereabouts? Was it her own bedroom she 
had perchance arrived at? He waited, folded into the 
darkness of the corridor, and presently he thought he 
made out a quick, short breathing on the air. It issued 
from the open space upon his left which appeared to 
mark a turn in the corridor. He stealthily moved in that 
direction, putting out a hand. 

Suddenly there was a little cry, and something white 
plunged against his arm with febrile force, threw it 
back, and fled incontinently past him, leaving the perfume 
of her passage behind her. Bannatyne turned too, and 
followed, and discovered now that he was rushing down 
a stairway at the highest speed he dared make in those 
silent hours of the night. At the bottom of the stairs the 
faint light now fell on a form that glided in a ghostly 
way not more than fifteen feet ahead of him. He in- 
creased his speed in the hope of catching her up, and then 
suddenly the figure vanished, as if it had been veritably 
a ghost. But in a few paces he had turned into a narrow 
passage and was speeding in pursuit once more. Then 
pursued and pursuer, quarry and hunter, went up a second 
staircase and along a new passage. There was scarcely 
a dozen feet between them, when the woman who fled 
turned the handle of a door and slipped into a room. 

Bannatyne distinctly saw her do this in the dim light. 
Her head was wrapped in the friendly darkness, but he 
had seen her arm go forth and seize the handle. He 
came to a halt, almost breathless, before a door. 

“ I suppose it's a shame," he thought ; but I can't 
92 


The Lady in the Bedroom 


help it. I never knew a girl to rim so fast. She’s — 
Oh, it isn’t Lady Coombe, for certain.” 

He had his bird caged now, and he waited outside, 
considering what course to pursue. Had he not, so to 
speak, tasted blood in that race, he might have duly noted 
the room, and gone back to his own chamber and repose, 
with the assurance that to-morrow he would be able to 
identify the occupant. This thought did flash through 
his mind, but to it succeeded another. After all, could he 
take note of the room? Where the mischief was he? 
He had an idea that he must be somewhere in the east 
wing, but he was not certain. And his blood was up, 
and he had been robbed, and he had the thief run to earth. 

Obviously the thief might refuse to deliver, and 
probably would refuse to parley with him at all. But 
he was determined to rush the crisis, and so he ap- 
proached boldly and knocked at the door. 

There was no answer, and he had hardly expected 
one. There was no gleam of light through the chinks 
of the door. Those whose deeds were evil loved darkness 
rather than light. It was not likely that he would receive 
admission for his knock. But he presently knocked loud- 
er; and still silence reigned. A ruder spirit would have 
tried the handle, but Bannatyne was of more delicate 
mold. He waited again, and then rapped louder still. 
It was his formal challenge. After that ceremony he felt 
he had put himself in the right, and, courtesies thus ex- 
changed, warfare must begin hotly in the morning. This 
was no mere affair of the gloves. 

The third rapping was succeeded by an unmistakable 

93 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


flare of light which found its way into the passage under 
the door. Ere he had time to marvel at this, a voice 
sounded muffled on his ear : 

“ Come in ! ” 

To say the truth, Bannatyne hesitated. He cast one 
glance down his costume, tied the cords decorously about 
his waist, and then turned the handle very gingerly. 
The secret was his at last; the mystery was out. And 
was it the beginning or the ending of romance? His 
heart beat fast ; his hand trembled. 

It was not the electric light that had been turned on ; 
what filled the room with a gentle luminousness was a 
candle that stood upon the dressing table wagging inter- 
mittently in the breeze that flowed between the open win- 
dow and the now open door. As Bannatyne opened the 
latter, a blast struck the flame, and the candle guttered, 
flinging darkness like a wave across light. In that in- 
stant Bannatyne saw only a form clad in a pink dressing 
gown that stood in the shadow of the candle, expectant. 
The next moment the flame righted itself and he saw 
clearly. 

It was a middle-aged face, and an unknown face, that 
confronted him, the somewhat sparse hair twisted into a 
tail and dangling on a neck that had once been smooth 
and white. 

“ I — I beg your pardon ! '' he stammered, greatly 
taken aback. 

“Yes?” inquired the lady encouragingly. She 
showed no signs of surprise at the intrusion; she merely 
had the air of one waiting. 


94 


The Lady in the Bedroom 


“ I — I’m very sorry, Fm sure,” stammered Banna- 
tyne. ” But I came after my shoe.” 

An expression of perplexity crossed the lady’s face. 

You came after your shoe ! ” she repeated vaguely. 

"" At least I came after your shoe,” he corrected, re- 
membering. 

“ My shoe ! ” repeated the lady, still more vaguely. 

Yes, the one you lost — the one you stole ” 

“ The one I lost — the one I stole ! ” she said, with be- 
wilderment apparent on her face. 

She came a step nearer, as if to let the light play 
more fully on Bannatyne’s face. She was of middle 
stature, and there was a firm and individual cast to her 
features. 

“ You don’t look mad, my dear sir,” she said, “ but 
I must confess you talk as if you were.” 

Bannatyne had by this time recovered himself some- 
what. He began to explain. 

“ You see, when you came into my room ” 

'' Pardon me,” said the lady with sarcasm. It is 
you who have come into mine.” 

'' Yes, I will explain that directly,” said poor Banna- 
tyne. I have to begin with your coming into mine.” 

I did nothing of the sort,” said the lady shortly, and 
with such decision that it silenced him. 

“ Well, some one came in,” he resumed lamely after a 
disconcerted pause. 

** Very possibly,” said the lady, still sarcastically. 

It seems to be a house where the practice thrives.” 

“ But this lady — this visitor — ran off with my shoe — 

95 


A Midsummer Day's Dream 


your — no, I mean a lady’s shoe I had,” went on Banna- 
tyne dejectedly. 

‘‘ I don’t see what this has got to do with me ! ” said 
the lady with dignity. I have nothing to do with your 
morals.” 

“ But you must understand — you won’t let me ex- 
plain,” said he miserably. “ I was only accounting for 
my intrusion — for this unhappy mistake.” 

“ It needed some explanation,” agreed the lady. 

“ Well,” went on Bannatyne hurriedly, some one 
stole the shoe oflF my chair, and luckily I awoke, and 
gave chase, and the chase led me here, and the lady — 
the thief, disappeared into your room, and so I thought 
I would — I determined to — and so I’m here,” he con- 
cluded weakly. 

“ That, at least, is obvious,” said she, considering him ; 
“ and after ^ this cock-and-bull ’ story I think the best 
thing you can do is to go somewhere else. I assume you 
know your room. But perhaps I assume that too rashly, 
in your present condition.” 

I assure you,” protested Bannatyne, “ I’m quite ” 

“ Oh, yes, there are different degrees of it, I know,” 
said the lady. Let me see what the time is.” She 
opened a watch under the light. “ It’s past two. I think 
now, sir, if you will be so kind as to leave me, I will en- 
deavor to resume a sleep which you are responsible for 
interrupting.” 

Bannatyne, with stammered apologies, bowed and 
backed away till he was out of the room. He had retired 
defeated; and the defeat degenerated into a shameful 
96 


The Lady in the Bedroom 


rout. The lady turned the key sharply in the closed door. 
Bannatyne fled precipitately. 

His reflections were humiliating. He had rudely and 
unwarrantably trespassed on a spinster lady’s privacy, 
and disturbed her by night alarms. No wonder she had 
put him down as drunken. His explanation must have 
seemed not merely lame and ineffectual, but positively 
fatuous. Now he revolved it in his agitated mind, what 
was all this nonsense about a shoe to pour into a middle- 
aged lady’s ears in the dead watches of the night? It 
sounded preposterous. He had a lady’s shoe, and some 
one had stolen it, and he quietly walked into Propriety’s 
bedroom and accused a lady of stealing her own shoe. 
No; of course it was not her shoe. Out of the dreadful 
shame of the situation only that fact emerged pleasantly. 
The thief in the night, who had vanished into the night, 
had seemed to enter the unknown lady’s bedroom; but 
clearly she had not. It was as evident, however, that 
the thief must lie nearby somewhere. At this considera- 
tion occurred to Bannatyne he paused in his headlong 
flight. He must make a note of the position of the room 
for the use of his investigations on the morrow. He 
retraced his way, but in the darkness was not certain 
where he was. Possibly the room was numbered or let- 
tered in some way, and he could easily identify it in the 
morning, if he could identify it now. That, however, 
seemed at first beyond his powers ; but presently he found 
a thread of light escaping from a doorway in the corri- 
dor, and he approached it noiselessly. There was no dis- 
criminating sign on the door, so far as he could make out 

97 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


in the faint light ; but he remembered that he had a pencil 
in the pocket of his dressing gown, and he took this and 
scribbled a small D. From that advertisement he would 
be able to feel his way; it should be the center of his 
further explorations. He had picked up a clew at last, 
despite his inward shame and his open disgrace. 

Bannatyne proceeded now more equably, and with 
quieter nerves, to find his own room. He was, he sup- 
posed, in the eastern wing of the house, for there was 
no moon visible through windows, only the clouded light 
of an approaching dawn. He went to the farthest end 
of the corridor, and encountered some stairs ; by these he 
descended, and went along another passage. So far he 
was certain he was on a safe course. Then he reflected 
that if his room was in the west wing, it could best be 
reached by the connecting southern point or body of the 
house. In this direction, therefore, he made his way. 

He explored several passages and took several large 
rooms in his course ; and presently, mounting a flight of 
broad stairs, came to the conclusion that he was in his 
own country. No doubt he would recognize his room 
when he saw it, particularly as the moon was now avail- 
able in her last stages low down among the trees of 
the park. If his door had been left open (which he could 
not remember) he would have no difficulty in identifying 
the room. He passed along, all attention, but in the whole 
length of the corridor there was no open door. He re- 
traced his steps, and halfway down again came to a pause, 
arrested by his memory. Had he not noticed that the 
elms in the vestibule of the drive were just visible from 
98 


The Lady in the Bedroom 


the window outside his doorway? This must be only a 
dozen paces away from where Bouverie and he had leaned 
and looked forth at the night. He moved a dozen paces 
back, and leaned, as he had leaned earlier. Yes, he could 
swear it was the same spot. If so, he knew where his 
room was. Unhesitatingly he crossed the corridor and 
opened a door. 

The handle turned, and he entered lightly, but ere 
he had moved more than two paces, and while the door 
was yet in his hand, he heard a sound. It was a slow, 
soft indrawn sighing of the breath, as of one sunk in 
dreamless slumber. Bannatyne hastily retreated with 
the shame of a second offense confronting him. He 
closed the door very quietly, but stumbled over some 
boots on the threshold. 

Panic fell upon him at the sound, and he sped as if 
for life into the darkness of the passage. It was some 
time before he mustered up spirit to resume his adven- 
tures. His room seemed to have vanished, as it had 
been at the nod of an Arabian genie ; and it was obvious 
that he could not wander about, visiting every chamber 
in the hope of hitting upon it. He could only trust that 
dawn would come soon and bring sufficient light to point 
the way. He thought he could tell by his boots. Every- 
thing seemed to turn on boots or shoes that night. If 
it had not been for a shoe, he would not have been in 
this predicament, and a boot would save him now. 

Near the end of the corridor toward the north he 
suddenly noticed that a door was ajar. It had evidently 
not been properly shut, and he wondered if by any 

• - C. 99 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


chance this could be his room. As he had given chase to 
the intruder he had probably let the door go behind him, 
and it had fallen to, but the latch had not caught. Now 
he looked on his environment, he began to be sure that 
he was right in conjecturing this to be his bedroom. To 
begin with, no one else would leave a door open; and, 
then, there was a window opposite, and the elms were 
visible from there .also. He summoned all his courage 
up and pushed the door wider open. He listened. No 
noise of a sleeper came to him, but all was pitch dark. 
He wondered why the moon should have gone so rapidly. 
After a moment’s pause he groped his way very care- 
fully forward, but met with nothing to impede his prog- 
ress. His bed should be to the right somewhere, and 
he deflected his course. He went with his hands out- 
stretched before him, and presently these encountered 
a bar. It must be the washing stand, he thought, and 
pushed a little farther, fell against something, clutched 
at it, and recovered himself. The next moment there 
was a loud crash of pots and bottles falling together, 
something trickling warmly over his ankles, and the odor 
of mingling preserves and pickles assailed his nostrils. 

Bannatyne extricated himself with a confusion of 
senses and a profusion of words ; and he was hardly again 
at the door when a tall manservant, in his nightshirt, hold- 
ing a candle, met him. 

“ Who’s this in the still-room? Now, then ! ” he cried 
threateningly, and then he recognized Bannatyne. 

Bannatyne also recognized his friend of two hours 
back, and could have wept with joy. “You are my 
loo 


The Lady in the Bedroom 


guardian angel,” he declared, and demanded his name 
gratefully. It was Braddock. 

Well, Braddock, the measure of my thanks shall be 
made known on the morrow. In the meantime lead me 
to my bed. I have lived through more terrors this night 
than it becomes any man to boast of. I hope you do 
know where I sleep ? ” he asked anxiously. 

“ Yes5 sir,” said Braddock reassuringly, and led the 
way. 

Bannatyne could hardly keep his eyes open. Secure 
in his room, he nodded dismissal to the man, and would 
almost have fallen on his bed in his dressing gown. He 
shambled out of it, turned off the light once more, and 
rolled himself up in the sheet. Hardly had he done so 
when he was asleep, his crimes forgotten, and his shame 
not even a memory. 


lOI 


CHAPTER VII 


THE ROSERY 

When Bannatyne awoke the sun was streaming into 
the courtyard, and westward the park stretched cool 
and green in its shadows toward the Chantry Woods. 
As he dressed in a leisurely manner after his bath, his 
eye, roaming over the intermediate pleasaunce, happened 
upon Gladys on the lawn under his window. She had 
emerged from the shrubberies beyond and had a purpose- 
ful air which was also somewhat furtive. Hastily throw- 
ing on his coat, he went down to meet her. The girl’s 
face broadened with a smile of polite welcome as he 
approached. 

“ Oh, how nice to see you, Mr. Bannatyne ! ” said 
she in accents which were quite conventional and young- 
ladylike. '' Mamma told me you were coming.” 

He kissed her finger tips, as the poet kissed Maud’s 
slender hands. 

“ I couldn’t stay away, Gladys. I tried hard, but the 
attempt broke down. There are so many attractions 
here,” and he shook his head sadly. 

Gladys eyed him with thoughtful diffidence. “ Do 
you think Miss Arden pretty ? ” she asked abruptly. '' I 
think she’s just lovely.” 

So do I, so do I,” he agreed cordially — “ as sweet 
as she is pretty, and as pretty as she is sweet.” 

102 


The Rosery 


“ Do you think she’s prettier than Miss Grant-Sum- 
mers?” pursued the girl. ‘‘You do, don’t you, Mr. 
Bannatyne ? ” 

“ Stars differ from one another in glory,” he said 
evasively. “ But I must have a good look at them again, 
from a respectful distance, of course.” 

“ Miss Arden’s got such beautiful hair,” said Gladys 
enthusiastically. “ I do so like that color — don’t you ? ” 

“ All colors, my dear Gladys,” said he — “ all the colors 
of the rainbow.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Bannatyne ! ” cried Gladys in protest and 
horror. 

“ Of course not necessarily in hair,” he added quickly. 
“ What have you got there, child ? ” 

Gladys hastily moved her hand so that it was buried 
in the folds of her holland dress. Her face was slightly 
suffused with pink, and she displayed a little embarrass- 
ment. 

“ Oh, it’s only something I found. I’ve been ” 

“ Not — not a shoe? ” he demanded, all alert. 

“ No,” said Miss Gladys, staring at him in surprise. 
“ No, I didn’t really find it, but I picked it. I mean- ” 

She was so very prim and proper, standing before 
him thus, long-legged, in immaculate hollands, with a 
broad mushroom hat, and long fair hair flowing over her 
shoulders. This was not quite the Gladys he had known 
before. The shadow of adolescence had fallen on her; 
she was near the prison gates. She had picked green 
apples, thought Bannatyne, and was ashamed of her 
appetite. Across her fourteen years the woman strove 
103 


A Midsimmer Day's Dream 


with the child ; and was it possible that the former would 
conquer merely because so old a friend happened to be 
a man ? It seemed wrong. He would evoke the child. 

“ My dear Gladys,” Bannatyne said reassuringly, “ I 
know you’ll give yourself a pain, but I really don’t mind. 
I did it, too, and I had pains — awful pains. I assure 
you,” and here he sat down on a garden seat : “ No one 
in the house will mind if you have a pain. So produce 
and eat, O daughter of Eve, forthright.” 

“ It isn’t anything to eat,” said Gladys reluctantly. 
He patted the seat near him by way of invitation, and she 
accepted, sliding modestly into position. '' It’s — it’s only 
some thorns.” 

“Thorns? For crackling under a pot?” he asked 
politely. 

“ No, no,” said Gladys doubtfully, and her face was 
now quite red. “ It’s for — for Mr. Lock.” 

“ Does Mr. Lock like thorns ? ” said Bannatyne, puz- 
zled. 

Gladys tittered a little; the shadows of the future 
seemed to have vanished. 

“No; that’s just it,” she confessed, and went on more 
quickly, and as if unburdening herself. “ He is so horrid. 
He just stares at me as if I weren’t there, and I meant to 
have put burrs in his bed last night, but I didn’t, and 
so I’m going to put these — ” Gladys hesitated, as if 
awakened to recollections of propriety; but her face was 
beaming; the sunlight of childhood was radiant about 
her. She fumbled with something in her lap. 

“ On Mr. Lock’s chair,” suggested Bannatyne gravely. 

104 


The Rosery 


Gladys shifted uneasily, and as if expecting a reproof, 
but none came. Instead, her companion seized her arm. 
“ Gladys, child,” he said distressfully, “ who is that lady 
walking toward us? And can I get away in time with- 
out her seeing me ? ” 

Gladys glanced her sharp, untrammeled glance across 
the lawn. “ It’s Miss Ashcroft,” she said. “ Why ? ” 

Do you think there’s room for me under the 
seat ? ” he inquired. “ Oh, if you could only hide me, 
Gladys ! I don’t feel very well.” 

Gladys looked at him in bewilderment to see if he 
were in fun or serious, and could not determine. She 
liked Mr. Bannatyne very much. He understood her, 
and she would have liked to understand him; but it was 
difficult. He rose and sauntered away with a negligent 
air, and she followed. 

“ You see, my child,” he explained in a low voice, 
“ it is as well to accept the inevitable — not to kick against 
the pricks ; and when a trouble has got to come, it may 
just as well be faced — meeting it, indeed, halfway is 
sometimes the best expedient. Good morning,” he broke 
off, lifting his hat to a lady, who had arrived within 
saluting distance. 

She was between forty and fifty, had a cool eye and 
the appearance of self-possession, and she was dressed 
rather individually than fashionably. 

“ Good morning,” she returned to the greeting. 
“ Good morning, Gladys, my dear. Have you been 
gathering roses for your cheeks?” 

“If you are really wise you will always be careful to 

8 105 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


avoid thorns when picking roses,” said Bannatyne to the 
girl paternally. “ All roses have thorns, but not neces- 
sarily all thorns have roses.” 

“ There does not seem very much sense in that state- 
ment,” remarked Miss Ashcroft bluntly. 

“ I did not intend there should be any,” replied he 
with dignity. 

Miss Ashcroft pursed her lips up, but made no reply 
to that. She swung round and surveyed the garden, on 
which a brilliant sun was shining. It was between eight 
and nine, and all the freshness of a summer morning was 
still in the fine air. Masses of lumbering white clouds 
were rolling in a windy sky through space as blue as the 
fastnesses of the deep sea ; they were climbing the breast 
of the downs to the south, and streamed across the valley 
like the banners of an invading army. 

“ Where do you keep your roses, child ? ” inquired 
Miss Ashcroft. 

“ The rose garden’s through here,” said Gladys, re- 
turned to her prim propriety, and led the way. Banna- 
tyne, out of sheer defiance, or at least despair, followed 
in Miss Ashcroft’s wake. They walked along a broad 
gravel path, passed through an arch in an old brick wall, 
and entered the rosery. Miss Ashcroft paused appre- 
ciatively in front of bush after bush, and Bannatyne 
wretchedly paused with her, offering such remarks as oc- 
curred to him. 

That’s a very fine grown Caroline Testout,” said 
Miss Ashcroft critically. She was a gardener of great 
knowledge and taste. Ah, I see you’ve protected your 
io6 


The Rosery 


Niphetoses properly ! Your man knows his work. Prob- 
ably the very best all-round rose is Viscountess Folkstone. 
It’s all rubbish about the Gloire de Dijon.” She looked 
Bannatyne full in the face, as if she expected him to con- 
tradict her, but he was not in the mood to do so. Was 
she ever going to speak, or had she ignored it? Per- 
haps she was that noble and impossible thing, a gen- 
erous woman? But, of course, it was only because of 
Gladys. 

“ Is it really ? ” was all he said politely. 

'' Now, I’m a grower,” went on Miss Ashcroft, and 
Sir Edward Coombe isn’t. But there’s more taste in a 
rosery like this than in twenty ordinary growers’ beds. 
They are show-mad, point-mad. Not but what I set store 
by real proper points. I will point a rose with any.” 

“ I have no doubt you would,” said Bannatyne with 
earnest conviction. 

“ But some roses are unaccountably neglected by 
growers and gardeners both,” continued Miss Ashcroft, 
riding her hobby. “ There’s no accounting for tastes. 
This, for example,” and she paused beside a bush — “ this 
Gloire Lyonnaise.” 

Again she fixed Bannatyne with her cool, masterful 
eye, and again he met it with polite attention. She turned 
away a little abruptly, as if that was not quite what she 
had expected, and as she did so Bannatyne let his gaze 
drop on the bush she had indicated. His interest was 
arrested at once. 

It bore roses like that which he had found the night 
before and which was still blooming in his bedroom. 

107 


A Midsummer Day's Dream 


‘‘ It is certainly a beautiful flower,” he observed, eying 
it keenly. Miss Ashcroft was eying him as keenly. 

“ Of course there is nothing in a name,” she said, 
“ and I suppose a rose by any other name would smell as 
sweet. But names are necessary to identification. Hence 
we have such monstrosities in nomenclature as Ulrich 
Brunner, Susan Anne Rodocanachi, and Mrs. W. J. 
Grant.” 

I like Gloire Lyonnaise,” said Bannatyne. 

‘‘ You have good taste,” said Miss Ashcroft, and 
I have no doubt Gladys will give you one in reward 
for it.” 

‘‘ I should like one very much,” said he, and looked 
wistfully at the girl. She glanced from one to the other 
of her companions in some bewilderment. She felt 
vaguely that they were talking as adults will talk on the 
verge of nothing which is something, and she was doubt- 
ful if there was a jest between them. On the whole, she 
thought that there was, and a smile trembled on her lips 
as she looked at the faces, the lady’s contained and matter- 
of-fact, the man’s whimsical and changeful. Bannatyne’s 
smile decided her. She giggled prettily, and stooped to 
cut a rose, which he took with a graceful “ leg,” and 
set in his buttonhole. 

“ I should like a constant supply of these,” he asserted 
to Miss Ashcroft. I should like a fresh one every 
morning, plucked in the dew of dawn by fairy fingers 
just like Gladys’s,” he added. 

Gladys laughed again. 

But I must warn you, Mr. Bannatyne, that the 
io8 


The Rosery 


Gloire Lyonnaise has one fault/’ said Miss Ashcroft. 
“It is shy. It is constant, but shy. It blooms con- 
sistently, and never varies from that brilliant virginity 
of color. It is faithful to itself; but it is not a free 
flowerer.” 

“ I value it all the more,” said he, dipping his nose in 
the full petals. “ But — ” he hesitated. “ Do you think 
— would you speak of it as virgin in color ? ” He looked 
doubtful. 

Miss Ashcroft shot him a glance and bit her under- 
lip pensively. 

“ Color, like beauty,” she remarked, “ resides in the 
eye of the beholder, and clarity of color also. I did not 
say it was virgin white.” 

Bannatyne was looking at his rose critically, and 
Gladys was watching first one and then the other with a 
puzzled expression on her face. She would have much 
liked to know what they were talking about; but it 
seemed to be only about a silly old rose. 

“ Do you know,” he observed, “ I think I like a taint 
of color. White innocence is charming, but it palls — 
doesn’t it, Gladys? I’m not sure I don’t prefer a cloudi- 
ness, a flaw in the crystal, something that balks perfection. 
Bacon remarked very sensibly that there is no beauty 
without some strangeness in its proportion. Thus beauty 
cannot be common, since it would not be strange, and 
virginity of color cannot be beautiful since it is common.” 
He paused. “ But is it? We affect that it is. Is it?” 
He held up the rose to her. 

“ You have a remarkable breadth of view,” said Miss 
109 


1 

A Midsummer Day^s Dream 

Ashcroft in her bluntest tone. “ But I’m not sure if I 
you’re not morbid. I’m going to breakfast.” ‘ 

She walked off with her vigorous stride as she said 
this, leaving Bannatyne with Gladys. 

We, too, might go to breakfast,” said the man pen- 
sively, gazing after Miss Ashcroft. “ I have something 
that gnaws at my vitals. Gladys, will you swear you 
haven’t eaten any green apples? If it weren’t broad 
daylight, and I were not fat and old, I would race you to 
the doors.” 

Gladys laughed. “ Oh, Mr. Bannatyne ! ” she said, 
expostulating ; “ you’re not fat and old.” 

“ Am I not ? ” he said hopefully. Do you really think 
not? You encourage me. What grounds have you for 
saying I am neither fat nor old ? ” 

Why, you’re not more than about forty or forty- 
five — perhaps fifty,” said Gladys with an air of confidence, 
and people aren’t really old till they get to be seventy 
— ^threescore and ten, you know, when they rot away.” 

“ Dear me, you foreshadow a most unpleasant end ! ” 
said Bannatyne. ‘‘ Rot away ! ” 

“ That’s what it says — their bones, you know,” ex- 
plained Gladys in her superior way. 

“ Oh,” said he, watching Miss Ashcroft in the dis- 
tance, “ I’m sure, if we don’t hurry, that lady will eat 
all the breakfast! Didn’t you see her eyes? She’s an 
ogress. She wanted to devour me, and you too, but par- 
ticularly me. Never mind, we have survived. Give me 
your hand, child, and we’ll go home in triumph. I won- 
der how much the ogress knows.” 


no 


The Rosery 


Knows ! ” repeated Gladys. 

‘‘Yes; ogresses often know a great deal, and I think 
this one is diabolically clever. I can’t make head or 
tail of her — can you? Lucky for you I was with you, 
wasn’t it? Women are all humbugs, all except you, 
Gladys, and you are not a woman yet. When you are, 
you’ll be a humbug.” 

“ No, indeed I won’t ! ” declared the girl indignantly. 

“Oh, yes you will, my dear — one of the worst. I 
know it. You’re all alike. You can’t help yourselves. 
I don’t blame you. Please don’t think I blame you. It’s 
natural in you, just as natural as a dog scratching himself 
for fleas.” 

Gladys giggled, and they ascended the steps to the 
house. 

Half the house party had breakfasted, and they 
entered to find eight or ten people scattered about the 
big table in the room that fronted the lawns. Lady 
Coombe sat at the top, surrounded by various silver urns, 
which, however, she made no attempt to use, that work 
being left to the servants. She was talking vivaciously 
with Ferris and Bouverie. 

Mrs. Everard Battye, handsome and statuesque, was 
pensively sipping her tea when Bannatyne sat down by 
her side. Gladys had already breakfasted, and melted 
away on some mysterious errand of her own. Hippolyta 
acknowledged Bannatyne’s arrival with a gracious 
smile. 

“Beautiful morning,” she said sweetly. 

“ Ecstatic,” said he. “ Delight fades into delight, as 
III 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


night into day, like those dissolving views of our child- 
hood — my childhood, I mean,” he corrected himself, with 
an appreciative and almost furtive look at the lady. It 
was that genuine combination of shyness with almost 
outrageous audacity that made part of Bannatyne’s ir- 
resistible charm. Mrs. Everard Battye turned toward 
him with an excess of warmth in her manner. 

Oh, I remember them,” said she graciously. 

“ Do you ? ” He looked doubtful. “ I believe you’re 
pretending. You’re making yourself out older than you 
are on purpose with some abominable design. I’m sure. 
Why, that would make you at least six-and-twenty.” 

She laughed. “ I’ve been married for eight years,” 
said she. 

“ Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” he re- 
torted quickly. “ At' least, your guardians ought to be 
ashamed of themselves. Why, you ought not to be 
married now — hardly, that is.” He gave her one of his 
shy glances and then dropped his eyes. “ And, of course, 
to the right man.” 

The color sparkled in her face. It is always the 
right man,” she said lightly. “ Isn’t it?” 

“ No one ever makes any mistakes,” he assured her. 
'' That is the solemn truth.” 

‘‘ Naturally,” said the lady with obvious levity. She 
hung heavily; she did not slide into these exchanges 
gracefully or with sufficient ease. She offered no play 
of passadoes. But she was beautiful. 

“ Icily regular, splendidly null,” thought Bannatyne 
to himself. What a seraglio! If he had been Lady 
II2 


The Rosery 


Coombe he would have hesitated long before collecting 
in one house so many handsome women, unless, of course, 
he had been as sure of himself as perhaps Lady Coombe 
was of herself. 

He was arrested in these thoughts, as he ate, by 
Bouverie’s voice. “ We ought to be playing ' Hamlet,’ 
instead of ' A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’ I’ll give 
you my word, ghosts walk in the western corridor. I 
heard ’em.” 

Oh, but we’ve no tradition of ghosts in Temple 
Hall,” said Lady Coombe. “ It couldn’t be.” 

“ I heard ’em,” said Bouverie with slow solemnity, 
“ from about one o’clock to half past two. They simply 
raced about the corridor. If I hadn’t been too frightened 
I’d have got up with my revolver.” 

I heard something, too,” said some one across the 
table ; ‘‘ but I thought it was cats.” 

I heard some one,” declared Miss Merrington ; “ and 
it stopped in front of my door, and I was afraid it was 
coming in.” 

Ghosts ! ” Bouverie assured her, wagging his head. 

There are no ghosts here,” said Lady Coombe plaim 
tively. 

'' It turned the handle of my door,” put in Banna- 
tyne’s neighbor, Mrs. Everard Battye, ''but, of course, 
it was locked.” 

" Ghosts don’t mind about locks,” said Bouverie. 
" It probably changed its mind, and went on. But I 
think it came to a bad end, for I heard a lot of bottles go 
over.” 

113 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


“ I know it was cats,” said the speaker across the 
table. 

“ It was neither ghosts nor cats,” said the decisive 
voice of Miss Ashcroft, “ for I saw it.” 

“ You saw it ! ” rose in an interested chorus. 

Bannatyne fumbled with the marmalade. “ Won’t 
you have some jam?” he asked confusedly. “This is 
really good jam. Please, Miss Ashcroft, may I ” 

Her cool eyes wandered over him. “ No, thank 
you,” she said, and, picking up the eyes of the table, 
proceeded : “ I saw it quite plainly — as you may say, 
face to face.” 

“ It has come at last — ^the curse is come upon me,” 
murmured Bannatyne with a sigh. “ But what a devilish 
revenge! She is an ogress.” The table was waiting on 
the narrative. 

“Will you try this jam?” said the unhappy Banna- 
tyne to his companion, whose eyes and ears were for 
Miss Ashcroft only. She did not even notice his ques- 
tion. 

“About two in the morning, as nearly as I could 
make out,” went on Miss Ashcroft, “ my door was 
opened suddenly ” 

“Oh, it did go in somewhere, then?” interjected 
Bouverie. 

“ And I lit a candle hastily, and found myself in the 
presence of a ” — a breathless pause ensued — “ a man,” 
said Miss Ashcroft, deliberately calm. 

“ Good heavens ! ” cried Lady Coombe in distress. 

Mrs. Everard Battye looked much interested, and 

114 


The Rosery 


two of the girls drew in their breath. Peter Bouverie 
contemplated the speaker gravely. Bannatyne whistled 
inaudibly and rapped his fingers softly on the table. 

The intruder offered no violence,” pursued the lady. 
“ He simply remained where he was.” 

“ But what did you do? ” asked Ferris, or what did 
he do? How did you get rid of him?” 

“ Yes, do let us get to the point,” urged Bouverie. 
“ Was it a burglar ? ” 

“ No, it was no burglar. It was some one staying in 
the house,” said Miss Ashcroft. 

Bannatyne now was looking across at her with level 
eyes, and their glances met. He raised the lapel of his 
coat, and drew in the fragrance of the rose. 

“ Some one staying in the house ! ” cried Lady 
Coombe. 

Bouverie pursed up his lips and raised his eyebrows. 
It was clear all were waiting for the next words which 
would clear up the mystery and reveal a '' sensation.” 

But his name I refuse to disclose,” continued Miss 
Ashcroft equably, ‘‘ as the unfortunate man was not 
responsible for his actions.” 

“Not responsible! You mean he was drunk?” in- 
quired Bouverie. “ That would explain his falling over 
my boots twice.” 

“ No, not drunk,” said Miss Ashcroft thoughtfully, 
“ though I won't say he had not drunk as much as was 
wise for him. No; his condition was otherwise and 
readily discernible.” 

“ Do tell us what was the matter with him,” said 

115 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


Bannatyne’s clear, musical voice, for the first time break- 
ing silence. Miss Ashcroft looked at him. 

“ He was walking in his sleep,” she said, and so it 
would not be fair to give his name.” 

“ What a shame ! ” murmured Bannatyne feebly, and 
to himself. '' A magnificent revenge ! Fve suffered 
tortures ; and she’s got me on the hooks still. It’s enough 
to drive a man to suicide ! ” 

A general feeling of disappointment pervaded the 
table, mingled with an increasing curiosity. Bouverie 
looked over at Ferris, and Ferris looked at Bouverie. 
Both looked at Bannatyne and young Gay. 

It wasn’t me,” said Bouverie presently. Please 
clear my character. Miss Ashcroft. It couldn’t have 
been me, for I heard it fall over my boots.” 

My dear fellow, you say so,” said Bannatyne. 

I’m going to clear no one’s character,” said Miss 
Ashcroft with determination. 

“ Well, we’ll all clear our own,” said Bannatyne 
lightly. It wasn’t me who was sleep-walking.” 

“ Nor me ! ” from Ferris. 

Nor me ! ” from young Gay. 

I believe it was Hancock,” said Peter Bouverie. 

He’s worried himself so that he can’t sleep. Let’s go 
and accuse Hancock.” 

Bouverie rose and pushed back his chair, and his ex- 
ample was followed by several others, including Banna- 
tyne. The latter, walking round the table toward the 
long French windows that opened upon the lawn, en- 
countered Lady Merrington, who beamed upon him. 

Ii6 


The Rosery 


“ Isn’t it a pity,” said she with her pretty little 
brogue, ‘‘ that Miss Ashcroft won’t tell us who the sleep- 
walker was?” 

“ I am perishing of curiosity,” he said, and ex- 
changed a long glance with Miss Ashcroft herself, who 
came up at that moment. 

'' It is not well to be too inquisitive,” said she, paus- 
ing to deliver her homily. It is not good for woman, 
and certainly not for man, who has less to plead in 
excuse for him. You have now had a moral lesson in 
self-restraint. Exercise it, Mr. Bannatyne. Curb your 
curiosity. Let the poor somnambulist rest unashamed. 
See! I set you an example, for I have a secret, and 
keep it.” 

“ Ah, but there it is,” said he lightly. “ You know. 
The rest of us ” 

“ Must find out, if you can. I ask you to spare,” she 
interrupted bluffly, and went out. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t be kind to poke fun at the poor 
man,” observed Lady Merrington, who seemed to have 
been impressed by these exchanges. “ I think it’s Mr. 
Lock. You see, they wouldn’t know they did it. And 
he looks as if he walked by night.” 

“ He has a distinct moonlight effect,” agreed Banna- 
tyne as they parted. 

He passed the cedars and deodars on the lawn and 
wandered toward the pleached alley. The party was 
scattered throughout the spreading gardens, and he 
could hear voices in the distance, and the smell of tobacco 
came to him. Overhead the great white clouds still 
117 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


billowed through blue space, and the morning air was 
invigorating like wine. He breathed in the fragrance 
of the day. 

He confessed himself a little frightened of Miss 
Ashcroft. She was too alarmingly assertive. How 
much did she know? That she knew a good deal was 
obvious. Clearly she had been ignorant when he broke 
into her room early in the morning, so that she must have 
learned something since. What, and from whom? He 
could surely trust his eyes, and they had told him of 
a form that fled before his pursuit, and vanished near by 
Miss Ashcroft’s room. Miss Ashcroft, then, must have 
had speech with the fluttered Daphne. There was the 
episode of the rosebush, which was unmistakable, and 
she had hardly taken the trouble to veil her references. 
She admonished him, nay, even threatened him. She 
had taken sides against him. Clearly, then, she knew 
the Dryad. That was satisfactory, so far. Some one 
else was in the secret, which made it easier for him to 
unravel. His investigations must operate round Miss 
Ashcraft and her room. He had marked that room, 
though, of course, it would be easy enough to identify 
by inquiry. Yet he preferred his own detective methods. 
He might open the campaign at any moment now, but 
somehow he did not want to begin. He shrank from it. 
Miss Ashcroft, he admitted to himself, had scared him. 
No, he would not visit the east wing at present. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE ROYAL COMMISSION 

As Bannatyne emerged from the pleached alley he 
was hailed across a broad bed of peonies. 

“ Coming to the village, Bannatyne ? ’’ 

It was Hancock, his soft hat tilted on his head, a cigar 
between his teeth, his hands in his pockets, and his round 
red face beaconing good temper. 

“ It’s no good,” said Peter Bouverie from behind him. 
“ It’s not Hancock ; look at his face. It couldn’t be.” 

“ What couldn’t be, and what isn’t Hancock ? ” 
growled the owner of that name pleasantly enough. 

“ The somnambulist,” said Bouverie. 

The somnambulist 1 ” repeated Hancock, and re- 
moved the cigar from his mouth. “ Look here, you peo- 
ple seem to think this is fun we’re engaged on, and that 
you are at liberty to joke your way through it. Let me 
disabuse your minds, or what you’re pleased to call your 
minds. It isn’t. It’s downright serious hard work, and 
hard labor’s nothing to it. I’m going forthwith to the 
village to see if we can beat up a Bottom on Bannatyne’s 
suggestion.” 

Oh, we’ll all come. We’re all interested in having 
a suitable Bottom” declared Bouverie. 

The three strolled away through the gardens and 
1 19 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


issued into the park, when they came upon a young man 
sauntering along the borders of the stream. 

“ Come on, Gay,” said Bouverie ; “ we’re looking for 
a Bottom for you.” 

Gay joined them with becoming dignity, and attached 
himself to Bannatyne. He was clean-shaven, and some- 
what broad and pink of face, and his accent was markedly 
individual. He gave values to every syllable in the most 
refined Oxford manner. 

“ Don’t you think the cast is rather absurd, Mr. Ban- 
natyne ? ” he inquired after some preliminaries. 

“ You are referring to me,” said Bannatyne in a de- 
pressed voice. “ My dear Mr. Gay, you’re quite right. 
But what was I to do? The part was distributed to me 
in my absence. I had no voice in it.” 

“No, indeed, no ; I was not thinking of you in the 
least ! ” said young Gay hurriedly. “ Indeed, I was 
thinking of myself partly. You see, I play Snout” 

Bannatyne raised his eyebrows. ‘"Snout!” he re- 
peated. 

“ Yes, don’t you think — well, Snout, you know.” Gay 
laughed shortly and bitterly. “ It’s rather hard to be 
playing Snout. It isn’t so much that the part hasn’t any 
fat in it, don’t you know — one doesn’t mind that. One 
takes one’s place for the general good of the company, so 
to speak. But to be a person called Snout \ Well, it’s 
too ridiculous, you know — isn’t it ? ” 

Bannatyne agreed that it was very trying, but en- 
deavored to cheer the young man’s drooping spirits in- 
effectually. 


120 


The Royal Commission 


“ Naturally one doesn’t wish to spoil sport/’ said Gay. 
“ But I think Mr. Hancock might have found some other 
part for me. I really shouldn’t mind playing Bottom, 
now, if — if it was considered desirable.” 

“ But Bottom ! Oh, come, Bottom ! ” said Bannatyne 
with distaste. “ ' Scratch my head, Peas-hlossom/ I 
don’t quite see you in the part, Mr. Gay.” 

“ Well, of course, one wouldn’t really wish it,” ex- 
plained Gay. “ But one would be willing to sacrifice 
one’s own individual feelings for the sake of the general 
company. And it really seems to me, if you don’t mind 
my saying so, absurd to think of getting a common vil- 
lager to play the part.” 

“ So it is,” agreed Bannatyne cordially. “ Mon- 
strously absurd. But Hancock will do it. Of course, my 
suggestion was meant as a joke.” 

So I gathered,” said young Gay eagerly. “ Of 
course, I recognized that you saw it was impossible. I 
really wonder at Mr. Hancock.” 

“ Let’s, at any rate, save him from what blunders we 
can,” urged Bannatyne. “ He’s going round the village 
now — No, Bouverie, I refuse to go through that wood. 
It’s haunted.” 

He had raised his voice, seeing that Bouverie was 
turning up a path which made for the Wilderness. Bou- 
verie paused. 

All right,” he said. “ You speak so seriously I can- 
not doubt you. We’ll go through the Silver Wood.” 

So saying he turned about, and, crossing a green- 
sward, they passed up by the stream into some meadows 
9 I2I 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


and then by a gate into a cool dark patch of wood, which 
neighbored fields of gray-green corn, dancing in the 
morning sun. 

“ I believe there’s a humorist at the wheelwright’s,” 
said Bouverie when they reached the pretty village with 
its tiled cottages. “ Shall we try him ? ” 

Hancock looked doubtful. I’m rather afraid of 
your professional humorists,” he said. “ What I really 
want is a quick study — a man with a memory, who will 
do what I tell him.” 

“ Memory’s a very easy matter,” murmured Gay in 
Bannatyne’s ears. 

“ I vote we start with him, at any rate,” said Bouverie. 

This is a royal commission appointed by her Majesty 
Queen Titania to discover Bottom. He might be the 
wheelwright.” 

Hancock yielded, and they moved down the street to 
the wheelwright’s. Mr. Atfield received them in the open 
front of his workshop, rotund and dark and short. He 
saluted the gentry politely. 

“ Very busy, Mr. Atfield? ” began Hancock affably. 

“ I can’t complain, sir,” said the wheelwright, 
“ though it’s mostly hot work this weather.” 

“ Hot work ? ” said Bouverie, interrupting. 

“ There’s so much tiring to do, sir,” explained Atfield. 
“ Why, this morning, first thing, I had to fire twenty 
tires and set ’em. Not but what it might be consid- 
ered good practice by some people,” he ended with 
a grin. 

“ Talking of practice,” said Bannatyne, “ are you ac- 
122 


The Royal Commission 


quainted with the words of Mr. Shakespeare, Mr. 
Atfield?” 

The wheelwright shifted his feet and glanced at them 
somewhat uneasily. “ Of course, Fve often seen ’em,” 
he said with some dignity. '' I’ve got a copy of ’em in 
my house — what my boy reads.” 

“‘The Midsummer Night’s Dream’?” asked Bou- 
verie. 

Mr. Atfield took his time to reply. “ I don’t know 
about that,” he remarked noncommittally. “ But may- 
be.” 

“ I wanted to know if you’ve a good memory, Mr. 
Atfield,” said Hancock insinuatingly. “ Can you get 
things off by heart quickly ? ” 

The wheelwright pondered. “ Not what you might 
call very quick,” he said, “ but moderate fair. My boy’s 
got a good memory, he have.” 

“ Do you think you could act a part in a play, Mr. 
Atfield ? ” inquired Bouverie. 

“ I don’t know,” said the wheelwright, shaking his 
head. “ I’ve never tried, to my knowing.” 

“ Well, the fact is,” took up Hancock, “ Lady 
Coombe’s giving a performance of one of Shakespeare’s 
plays up at the Hall in a few days, and we wondered if 
you could take a part in it. Only it is essential that you 
should get up the part at once.” 

Gratification was apparent in the wheelwright’s smile, 
which broadened over his face. 

“ It’s very kind. I’m sure, sir,” said he. “ I couldn’t 
be certain that I could. I’ve seen acting — good acting, 
123 


A Midsummer Day's Dream 


in my time, but I dunno that I could act myself. It’s 
very kind of you, gentlemen, all the same.” 

“ Well, suppose you have a shot at it, eh? ” said Han- 
cock, and whispered to Bannatyne. “ It can’t be worse 
this way than it is at present.” 

“ Much obliged, sir,” said the wheelwright doubtfully. 

‘‘ You see, we want you to play Bottom," persisted 
Hancock. 

The wheelwright stared- Bottom\" he repeated. 
“ You want me to play Bottom} ” 

“ Yes, Bottom, who wears an ass’s head, you know, in 
the play,” said Bouverie encouragingly. 

The wheelwright’s glance sidled off to him, and sus- 
picion dwelt in it. 

“ Wears an ass’s head ! ” he said with rising intona- 
tion. 

‘‘ And lies in the lap of the fairy queen,” interjected 
Bannatyne. 

He, too, was now engaged by the darkling eye. They 
were evidently all in a conspiracy together. Atfield’s in- 
dignation, which had been slowly growing, was now over- 
ripe. He retreated with dignity into his shop and took 
up a plane. 

“ Bottom ! ” he said with a snort between his planing. 
“Wears an ass’s head, does he? and sits in a woman’s 
lap, does he? ” He laughed a hard, grim laugh. “ You 
gentlemen better go home. Time you did; the morning 
isn’t for jokes like them.” 

“ But it isn’t a joke ; it’s dead earnest,” declared Han- 
cock. 


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The wheelwright snorted and cackled. He continued 
to plane viciously. You gentlemen better go home and 
rest a bit,” he said. “ It be plain the sun be affectin’ 
your heads. I can stand a joke, aye, and make a joke, 
too, with anyone ; but things can be took too far. BoU 
tom ! Layin’ in a lady’s lap ! There’s no sense in any 
of that talk. ’Tisn’t respectable, that it isn’t! I don’t 
want to play no Bottom, layin’ in a lady’s lap. Humph I 
Sims to me one or t’other of you gentlemen best play 
Bottom yourselves.” The wheelwright, struck by this 
idea and the humor of it, paused in his work and directed 
a glance toward them. He opened his mouth and laughed 
satirically at the discomfited party. 

“ Sims to me as one o’ you gentlemen best play ’im,” 
he repeated. “ Sims to me as the part would suit one o’ 
you. Sims to me as you’d like it, layin’ with your heads 
in a lady’s lap I ” he said with derisive emphasis. “ I 
ain’t got no time, nor yet fancy, to waste on a Bottom 
and ladies’ laps. Sims to me you better play ’im your- 
selves,” he called out loudly and more derisively after 
the retreating party, and his mocking laughter followed 
them. 

“ He had us there,” said Bouverie sadly, as in de- 
spondency they walked down the street. 

“ He misunderstood us,” said Bannatyne with dignity. 

“ Heavens I to think of a prime part with all the 
fat going begging like this I ” apostrophized Hancock. 
“ Even despised by the hinds ! I shall have to send that 
telegram to London.” 

“ Hancock speaks as if it was a sheep, and he a 

125 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


butcher,” remarked Bannatyne. “ But don’t let’s be 
downhearted. Let’s try the cobbler. Cobblers have 
always individualities. A cobbler would solve a theory 
of the universe in the desert of Sahara, and it would be 
heretical.” He looked at the sign of the shop by which 
they had halted. “ ‘ Cooper.’ Good ! Now for inquiry. 
Is Mr. Cooper in ? ” 

For answer, a man of medium height, medium age, 
and heavy build came to the door. He wore a brown 
leathern apron, and his fattish face, ornamented with 
mutton-chop whiskers, beamed on them in a friendly way. 

“We are a deputation from Lady Coombe,” began 
Bannatyne courteously, “ who is producing the pastoral 
play of ' A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ and has heard 
that you would fill the part of bully Bottom admirably. 
We have come to see if we cannot persuade you to take 
the part.” 

The cobbler took the spectacles off his nose and looked 
round at them in surprise, but at the end of his inspection 
his face was wreathed in smiles. 

“ It seems funny like, cornin’ like this, gentlemen,” 
said he. “ Come in. — Mother ! ” he called with a burr, 
“ bring another chair for the gentlemen. — Sit down, gen- 
tlemen; sit down, please.” He beamed on Bannatyne, 
and then shone upon Bouverie, finally brightening on 
Hancock. 

“ Now can we persuade you ? ” asked Bouverie cozen- 
ingly. 

“ I’m sure I don’t know, sir,” said the cobbler, beam- 
ing. “ It’s funny like. I never thought of such things. 

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I reckon it’s pretty hard work, sir ? ” he added, address- 
ing Hancock. 

No, very easy,” said that gentleman promptly — 
always supposing you’re a good hand at getting things 
up.” 

'' That would be learning it off, like,” said the cobbler, 
and perpended. “ I’m sure I don’t know, sir. I dare 
say I might learn it off. I was always pretty good at 
learning by rote, like.” 

‘‘ The leading performers are paid two guineas for 
their services,” said Bannatyne mendaciously. 

The cobbler smiled more broadly. “ I should like to 
try it, sir, if there wouldn’t be no objection, like, to 
trying.” 

We can only try,” said Bouverie sententiously, and 
if we fail, we fail.” 

I shouldn’t like to fail, sir,” said the cobbler. 
“ When I take a thing in hand I like to carry it through, 
I doos. But perhaps the gentlemen will tell us a little 
more about it, like. You said Bottom, sir. Is that a 
leading character, like ? ” 

'' One of the most important,” said Bouverie. 

Is it — is it a love character, as you might say, sir? ” 

'' Well,” said Bouverie critically, '' in a way it might 
be so considered, but from another point of view perhaps 
not. The fairy queen falls in love with you.” 

The cobbler’s grin returned, and its radiance fell upon 
the circle. '' Fancy that, sir ! ” he said, chuckling. 
“ Perhaps the missus might object. There’s no knowin’ 
how women will take on.” 


127 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


“Well, do you feel disposed to assent?” inquired 
Hancock. 

The cobbler hesitated. “ If I thought I could man- 
age it,” he began diffidently. 

“Oh, you mustn’t be too modest; no actor is,” said 
Hancock. 

“ Well, it’s more about the learnin’ of it off,” said the 
cobbler. “ Is there much of it, sir ? ” 

“ A fair amount ; but we’ll leave you the part, and you 
can try your hand. You can easily get it up during your 
work. Keep the book open before you — so — and in the 
intervals of hammering nails in you can read the 
lines.” 

The cobbler listened and nodded. “ I dare say I can 
do it, sir. When I was a boy, like, I was a great hand 
at repeating poetry. I could say the whole of ‘ Alas, 
poor little Jim ! ’ and things like that easy. It worn’t 
no trouble to me, sir. Oh, no, I believe I has a good 
memory.” 

“ Then we will put you down,” cried Hancock heart- 
ily, “ and we will leave you this book to study from ; the 
passages are marked. And we shall expect you to a re- 
hearsal this afternoon, at four o’clock. Is that agreed, 
Mr. Cooper?” 

The cobbler’s face had grown anxious, but he man- 
fully assented, and then made a suggestion. 

“ I suppose there isn’t a song, like, in the part, sir ? 
I be pretty good at a song. Never a year goes but I 
sings one of my songs at the Cricket supper, ’long of the 
inn there. I knows that one : 

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“ ‘ ’Tis my delight of a zhoiny noight 
Of the zeazon of the year.’ 

’Tain’t my best, but it’s a rare good ’un.” 

Hancock kept his face, and Bouverie and Bannatyne 
were preternaturally grave. 

“ If we can find room for it, rely upon me. Cooper,” 
said the former ; I will see what can be done. In the 
meantime, remember and be punctual.” 

The cobbler touched his hair to them as they went 
out, and beamed after them, respectfully alert and brisk 
and debonair. The three (for Gay had not accompanied 
them on their second quest) moved in the direction of 
the Hall. 

“We have accomplished a hard task skillfully,” said 
Bouverie, “ and are entitled to a little refreshment. It 
is very hot.” 

“ I’ll tell you what it is,” confided Hancock, mopping 
his rubicund face, “ that’s the real thing. We couldn’t 
have done better. It is Bottom. Oh, it’s great ! ” 

“ He’ll take all the shine out of me,” said Bannatyne 
moodily. 

“ Oh, you’re not on the stage with him. I am,” said 
Bouverie. “ I shall have to sing small.” 

“ No, but you don’t understand,” said Bannatyne. “ I 
want to bulk large. Lysander is to my mind the most 
important character in the play. The whole plot hinges 
on him and ” 

“ How absurd ! ” interposed Bouverie with his delib- 
erate voice. “ It is obvious to anyone with the intellect 
129 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


of a bird, that the chief part is 0 heron, the director of the 
destinies of mortal and immortal alike.” 

‘‘ I refuse to discuss this matter with you, if you lose 
your temper like that,” said Bannatyne. No ; I won’t 
go with you to the inn. I don’t like your company. 
Good-by.” 

He came to a halt, and, waving a hand each, Bou- 
verie and Hancock jogged over to the inn. Bannatyne, 
however, turned about and directed his steps to an ave- 
nue of limes on one side of the village, which gave access 
to the park beyond. He roamed up this by a right- 
of-way to the heath, and stood for a quarter of an 
hour admiring the legions of white clouds that ad- 
vanced in heaven. The sunshine was blown about the 
heath, and the hills at the back of the landscape were 
alternately in shadow or under a brilliant blaze of 
light, the dark of the everlasting pines mingling in 
the ridges with the brighter green of oaks and larches 
and beeches. 

Bannatyne took out his watch, and found it was near 
twelve o’clock. He would just have time to go round 
by the warren and through the gates before lunch. By 
that time, too, he would have recovered sufficiently to 
resume offensive operations against Miss Ashcroft and 
the unknown. Already he felt the desire for battle well- 
ing up in him. The Dryad had deliberately and wantonly 
challenged him by her theft of her shoe ; she had thrown 
down the gage of battle. Well, he would take it up. 
With these reflections he turned his back on the long val- 
ley streaming with light, and started up the ascent which 
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led to the warren. At the entrance he caught sight of a 
figure leaning over the gate. It was a slender white 
figure, with an unadorned Panama hat adroitly and be- 
comingly adjusted. This he could make out from afar, 
and presently he arrived near enough to see that it was 
Lady Cynthia. She had her back to him; otherwise she 
would almost appear to have been waiting for him. As 
it was, his first words caused her to start and swing 
round on him. 

“ Mr. Bannatyne ! ’’ she exclaimed, with a flush in her 
cheeks. 

“ Pm glad IVe caught you. Fve been chasing you 
for two hours,” said he. 

The girl looked at him frankly. “ I’ve only been out 
for an hour,” she said. “ You could have found me in 
the house. Why did you want me ? ” 

She was as innocent of any coquetry as a child, and 
merely expected some communication from Lady Coombe 
or her mother which this extravagant man had been en- 
listed to carry. He gave her his shy smile. 

‘‘ I couldn’t stand the society of Bouverie and Han- 
cock any longer,” he explained. “ They wanted to take 
me into a low public house. They’re probably drink- 
ing there still. I don’t suppose we shall see them all 
day. They’ll probably turn up in an awful condition 
to-night.” 

Lady Cynthia laughed softly, and turned her attention 
to what she had been looking at before his arrival. 

“ Is it the hills. Lady Cynthia ? ” he asked, following 
her gaze. 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


The sun was on the long limbs of the pine-clad hills, 
and over them was the distant shadow of the downs that 
slept by the sea. 

“No; farther,’^ said she. She pointed to the horizon. 

“ Aren’t they beautiful ? It seems so wonderful to look 
right across the weald and see them.” i 

“ ‘ I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence ( 
cometh my help,’ ” quoted Bannatyne. “ People who live 
in flat lands must have drab minds.” 

“ They have the stars,” said Lady Cynthia. 

“ True, they have the stars,” he assented. “ They 
have illimitable space, if they choose to see it. But how 
many human eyes carry so far ? Like the philosopher in 
the ‘ Clouds,’ they keep their gaze earthward. That is 
why,” he added with a wave of his hand toward the 
south, “ the hill triumphs. That must strike the eye. 
Infinity is too great for most of us, but we can measure 
a mile.” 

She was looking across the landscape, in an abstrac- 
tion, and the cool breeze played with her skirt and blew 
ruffles in her bodice. Bannatyne turned his attention 
from the view to her, and approved the symmetry of that 
slim form. 

Lady Cynthia, with a little sigh of pleasure, aban- 
doned the view and began to walk on; he followed into 
the wood. 

“Were you successful?” she asked presently. 

“ Do you mean, did we secure a Bottom ? We did. 
Hancock promises him to be a star, which makes me feel 
very jealous. I don’t want to be outshone by a star.” 

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'' I thought it was only women who were like that/’ 
said she, smiling. 

He shook his head sadly. “ Give men a chance, and 
they will discover as much vanity to a square inch as 
any woman. Who ruined themselves on clothes in the 
eighteenth century? I answer, men. That is why this 
horrible modern uniform was invented,” he continued 
mournfully, looking down at his lounge suit. Men were 
too vain. They spent all their money on dress. Now 
women do it for them. It is bad form to dress. You 
can kill anything by making it bad form. I believe you 
could kill love.” 

“ Lady Cynthia regarded him with interest. '' You 
couldn’t kill anything that people really cared for,” she 
said emphatically. 

“ Oh, couldn’t you ? ” said Bannatyne lightly. “ Be- 
sides, people don’t really care for things. They’ve no 
tastes — only fashions ; at least women haven’t.” 

“ You’re rather hard on women,” protested Lady 
Cynthia. 

“ I’m only honest. Lady Cynthia,” he replied sadly. 
** I cannot pay compliments ; it goes against my ingrained 
truthfulness. I must testify to what I know. If I had 
been George Regent in the fullness of his authority I 
would have revolutionized the sex. All women would 
have set their watches by me, and I would have killed 
love for a generation.” 

'' Do you really feel so strongly as that ? ” asked she 
in wonder. 

'' It would have been interesting,” he said dreamily — 

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A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


'' a world without love, killed by fashion. Can’t you 
picture what would take place? 'Yes, my dear,’ says 
Lady Smith to Miss Brown; ' Yes, my dear; I have seen 
the Robinsons since their marriage. Do you know what 
she did ? It is too terrible ! Why, she had the vulgarity 
to fall in love with him. Of course we must cut her. 
Such a solecism is unpardonable. Ugh! how the very 
word makes one shudder ! ’ Let’s talk of something 
pleasanter. How’s your main ? ” 

“ Main ! ” said Lady Cynthia, checking her smile in 
wonder. 

" Yes, a cockfighting main, you know. For fashion 
and good form, having deserted love, would move on to 
something else — say cockfighting, or it might be the 
prize ring, or gladiatorial shows, or sewerage systems.” 

Lady Cynthia had resumed her laugh. " I wonder if 
you really believe anything, Mr. Bannatyne,” she said. 
"Mr. Bouverie was saying that you ought to go into the 
House of Commons.” 

" Do they believe anything there ? ” he inquired. 

" Because then,” she continued, ignoring his inter- 
ruption, " you would have to know some one else’s mind, 
if you didn’t know your own.” 

She had colored ever so delicately in saying this, and 
Bannatyne noticed it. He stopped abruptly. 

" Did Bouverie say that of me ? ” he asked. 

" Yes.” Lady Cynthia’s voice weakened. 

“ Do you believe it. Lady Cynthia ? ” he asked plead- 
ingly. 

" I don’t quite know what you mean,” she faltered. 

134 


The Royal Commissio. 


“ It isn’t — well, I don’t know what there is to believe in 
it. I think it might be nice to go into the House.” 

“ That isn’t at all what I mean,” he said moodily, 
“ and it isn’t at all what Bouverie meant. He meant that 
I didn’t know my own mind, and you know it very well. 
Lady Cynthia, but you’re too kind-hearted to say so. 
And, what is more, I believe you agree with him — the 
beast. I mean Bouverie, of course.” 

“ I don’t — indeed I don’t. I’ve not thought about the 
matter,” said Lady Cynthia, who had regained her self- 
possession. She looked about her indifferently, as if the 
subject were already forgotten. They were by now in 
the park, and moving toward the house. 

“ I will take it out of Bouverie in a choice way,” said 
he. “ In the meantime, let me invite your attention 
to that meadow across the stream; how wonderfully it 
composes.” 

Lady Cynthia followed his gaze, and her eyes rested 
on a field scattered with dun cows, bright with the gold 
of the ragwort, and brown with summer grass. The 
duns and yellows made a harmony with the greens be- 
yond, and she recognized the justice of her companion’s 
taste. 

“ It is an adorable summer,” said he. 

“ It is perfect,” she said. His eyes saluted her, but 
she did not see ; she was looking at the meadow. 

“ Everything works together for righteousness,” said 
Bannatyne, “ in the best of all possible worlds.” 

They walked on, and parted in the precincts of the 
garden, the girl with unfluttered pulse, but the man with 

135 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


the tide of his blood a little faster and more urgent. He 
loved beauty, and here w^as also goodness. At least he 
conjectured so. 

After making his preparations for lunch, he found 
that his courage had returned, and his thoughts recurred 
to the scene of his nocturnal adventure. He made his 
way to the eastern wing, and passed along the corridor 
from which the rooms opened. It was probable that the 
Dryad, who he was confident now had in her desperation 
taken refuge in Miss Ashcroft’s room, had her nocturnal 
quarters close by. Therefore he had marked the room 
in order to make inquiries from that center. Arrived in 
the corridor, therefore, he began to examine the doors. 
He had marked the door with a D, but now, to his aston- 
ishment, every door that he passed was lettered unosten- 
tatiously with a D. He had been forestalled again, and 
the same ingenious hand that had snatched the shoe from 
him, had also played this Arabian Night’s trick upon him. 
His admiration grew apace, and he had all the greater 
desire to meet the lady face to face. He told himself the 
game was far more interesting than Lady Coombe’s pas- 
toral play, though that was entertaining enough ; but did 
not this marking of the door prove that his suspicions 
were right, and that the thief did reside in that neighbor- 
hood? It would be comparatively easy to find out who 
occupied the bedrooms in the corridors, but he did not 
know if he wanted to do it that way. Besides, out of 
twenty people he might find it difficult to pick the right 
one. All that would be accomplished by that informa- 
tion would be to narrow the field of inquiry. Wasn’t that 
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what he wanted? He did not know. He wanted to do 
it all himself. If he had to discover where everyone 
slept, he 

In the midst of his ruminations a door opened near 
him, and Miss Ashcroft stepped into the corridor. She 
eyed him calmly. 

“ A delightful day, isn't it ? " 

‘‘ Perfect,” he stammered. 

‘'We get the sun in the morning here more than you 
do in the other wing,” said Miss Ashcroft graciously. 
“ It strikes quite hotly through the windows. That is 
the only objection I have to my room. If you would 
like to see it, I can easily ” 

“ Thank you, no,” he interrupted hastily, “ I — I will 
, take your word for it.” 

; “ In the afternoon, of course, we have the advantage,” 

pursued the lady in her equable and decided voice. “ The 
rooms in the west become unbearable when ours grow 
: cool. I find it delightful in the afternoon when I lie 
down, as I usually do, from three to four. If you would 
like to come in then, instead of now ” 

“ Indeed, no, thank you,” he burst in with a bow. 

! “ Besides, I’m not really inquisitive.” 

Miss Ashcroft looked at him. “ The only time I 
I couldn’t show you my room is at night,” she said. “ Any 
I other time I don’t mind. Usually I’m not at home from 

10 p.M. to 8 A.M.” 

“ It’s very good of you,” he said awkwardly. 

Miss Ashcroft took out her watch and looked at it. 
“ Of course, I can’t answer for my neighbors,” she said. 
10 137 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


“ I’m only speaking for myself. After half past one. 
Don’t you think it’s time we went to luncheon ? ” 

If I may have the honor of accompanying you,” said 
Bannatyne briskly. 

Miss Ashcroft looked at his coat. Where’s your 
rose ? ” said she sharply. 

It’s having whisky and water for the purposes of 
preservation,” he said, taken aback. 

Miss Ashcroft’s mouth relaxed in a smile. 

“Yes, it is useful sometimes. Come; there’s the 
gong!” 


138 


CHAPTER IX 


HERMIA 

My own idea,” remarked Peter Bouverie at lunch, 
my own idea about Miss Ashcroft’s somnambulist is, 
that it was of her own sex, not ours.” 

A chorus of gratified assent arose from the men. 
“ That’s an inspiration,” said Bannatyne. “ I wonder we 
never thought of it before.” 

‘‘ You did not think of it at all,” said Bouverie. 
“ Alone I did it, but I am willing to make a free present 
of it for general use. The grounds on which I base my 
theory are slight, but sufficient; the evidence is chiefly 
circumstantial. In the first place. Miss Ashcroft’s pre- 
vious character is not consistent with her refusal to dis- 
close the identity of an offender. Miss Ashcroft, if I 
may be allowed to say so, is characterized by a certain 
judicial ruthlessness which is highly commendable and 
wholly to her credit. Why should she refrain from hold- 
ing the transgressor up to obloquy? That brings me to 
my second point. The only reason for secrecy would lie 
in the sex of the offender. Miss Ashcroft would natu- 
rally be disposed to spare one of her sex where she would 
be merciless to us. There are many minor arguments 
which I might lay before you, but these suffice.” 

It seems sound,” said Sir Edward Coombe. 

139 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


“ Can we not all look round upon each other’s faces 
and lay our hands on our hearts and say our consciences 
are clear ? ” pursued Bouverie, glancing about the table. 

'' You forget that you would not know you had been 
walking in your sleep,” said Miss Ashcroft. 

Good heavens ! do you mean to suggest that it may 
be any of us, then,” asked Bouverie in alarm — “ even 
me? I absolutely repudiate the reflection. I distinctly 
heard some one fall over my boots.” 

“ What sort of fall was it,” asked Hancock — man, 
or woman ? ” 

“Falls are not sexual,” said Bouverie With dignity; 
“and, moreover, a cat could make more noise than a 
human being.” 

“ I believe it was a cat,” said Captain Madgwick. 

Bannatyne got up from the table. “ As a matter of 
fact,” he said impressively, “ we all really know who it 
was, only we won’t say. It’s too delicate a matter.” 

“ You think — ” began Bouverie. 

Bannatyne shrugged his shoulders and elevated his 
eyebrows. “ ‘ There is a decency to be observed, quoth 
she.’ The only person to whom I could have confided 
my suspicions knows, so I’ll hold my tongue.” 

“ That’s not a bad idea,” said Bouverie. “ Let’s all 
hold our tongues.” 

“ Well, it certainly wasn’t me,” said Mrs. Everard 
Battye. 

“ Nor me,” declared Miss Arden. 

“ I don’t think it was me,” said Lady Merrington 
thoughtfully. 


140 


Hermia 


Other feminine voices disclaimed identity with the 
nocturnal visitor, including Miss Chloe. Catching her 
voice, Bannatyne paused by her near the window. 

“ You don’t know, Miss Chloe,” he said. You’re 
only talking wildly.” He looked at her earnestly. “ But 
it’s better not to say anything about it. It is better for- 
gotten. I wonder Bouverie brought it up.” 

Chloe’s face had been brightly expectant when she 
saw him, but now dulled, and took on a look of bewilder- 
ment. 

‘‘ Do you really know, then, who it was ? ” she asked. 

He dropped his eyes. “ People have no right to pre- 
tend they know they didn’t,” he said earnestly, “ because 
they don’t. Could you say you didn’t snore. Miss 
Chloe ? ” he asked abruptly, so abruptly that the color 
crowded into the girl’s face. 

“ Ye — N — I don’t know,” she stammered. But 
I’m sure I don’t,” she added. 

“ Miss Chloe,” said Bannatyne solemnly, how could 
you possibly be awake to know that you didn’t snore last 
night? And how, in the same way, could you — anyone, 
of course, I mean — be awake to know you didn’t walk in 
your sleep last night ? ” He paused, as if to let his words 
sink in, and Miss Chloe fell into confusion. 

She blushed ; she began to speak tremulously. Do 
you mean — do you think it was I — ” She paused. 

Don’t think about it,” he said solicitously. 

“ But I’ve never walked in my sleep in my life,” pro- 
tested poor Chloe indignantly. I believe you’ve only — 
You didn’t see me,” she almost implored him. 

141 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


“ No ; unfortunately — I mean happily, I did not see 
you with my eyes, nor did I see anyone. I only heard — 
But it’s no use continuing this painful conversation. Miss 
Chloe. Your secret is safe with me.” 

He nodded, and his smile behind the veil betrayed him. 
“ Oh, Mr. Bannatyne,” she cried in protest, with a laugh 
betwixt delight and relief, “ you are dreadful ! I really 
was afraid it was me, for a moment.” 

“ You don’t know it wasn’t,” he told her. ‘‘ When 
shall we galumph again ? ” 

Chloe’s lips were parted in excitement. She laughed. 
The question did not seem to call for an answer. It was 
only part of Bannatyne’s personality which had enchanted 
her. He breathed romance so charmingly. 

“ Remember,” said Hancock’s solemn voice in his ears, 
rehearsal called for nine o’clock, in Titania's glade. 
Bannatyne, if you don’t turn up I’ll throw up the sponge.” 

‘‘ I shall be there — never fear,” said Bannatyne ; and 
to Chloe, “ We’ll galumph in the glade.” 

“ Oh, but we can’t,” she said. It was different last 
night.” 

“ Well, it will be different to-night,” he declared. 

“ Don’t you think it’s very absurd having these re- 
hearsals at night ? ” asked Miss Arden as she came up. 

Hancock smoothed his fat red face. Ridiculous 
nonsense,” he said emphatically. “ Half the people are 
away flirting when you want ’em. Practically doubles 
one’s work. Moonlight always makes people mad.” 

“ I think it’s positively the most charming idea I can 
remember in my long life,” declared Bannatyne. 

142 


Hermia 


“ You would,” said Hancock rudely. “ You’re made 
that way. Miss Arden and I are not sentimental.” 

“ Aren’t you ? ” said Bannatyne anxiously to Miss 
Arden. 

She shook her head, smiling. Not a bit.” 

“At any rate, you suit the moonlight,” he retorted. 
“ You can’t get out of that.” 

“ How do you mean ? ” she asked, still smiling. 

“ Hearts beat wildly under the moon ; lovers go mad ; 
she draws hearts as she draws the sea. And so doth 
Helena. Those eyes are loadstones.” 

Miss Arden shook her head ; her cheeks, faint, flushed. 
“ That is said of Hermia,” she declared. “ You must 
look to Hermia for that comparison.” 

She was at that moment carried off by Lady Coombe, 
and Bannatyne followed Hancock out of doors. An 
afternoon cigar in the shady gardens was delightful, and 
idle communion with his own vagrant fancies was equally 
to his taste. He tried to count the goldfish in the foun- 
tain, without really hoping or wishing to succeed, and 
naturally failed. Then he wandered into the formal gar- 
den where the white peacocks stalked sedately, and passed 
out of that again into the park. The sun had grown in 
power, and something invited him toward the stream 
which, at one point in its progress through the park, 
broadened into a small lake. On the flat land on one side 
of it cows grazed ; beyond, a wooded height rose bluffly 
and threw deep shadows on the quiet water; a gentle 
breeze flowed up the valley and ruffled the branches over- 
head. The water had a look of coolness that was refresh- 
143 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


ing to the mind, and had almost a physical effect. He was 
strolling among the trees down toward it, when he per- 
ceived two girls seated on a log below him. He recog- 
nized one of them at once, for he had parted from her in 
the morning, and her costume was fresh in his mind. 
Then he recognized the other, as that daughter of Sylvia 
Latham, to whom Lady Fallowfield had presented him. 

“ Fairies,” he said ; fairies in converse and an ap- 
propriate setting.” 

The sticks crackled under his feet, and the log was 
hidden by a clump of bushes. When he had passed this, 
he saw Miss Kitty Latham walking away toward the 
house, but Lady Cynthia was still seated. She looked up 
at his approach, but said nothing. 

“We have had the same instinct,” said he, sitting 
down beside her. “ The water draws us.” 

“ Fm not sure that it shouldn’t be running water,” 
she remarked. “ The babbling of a brook is cooler, don’t 
you think ? ” 

“ You’re probably right,” he assented, “ and if we 
only move round the point beyond the boathouse we shall 
have the benefit of both.” 

Lady Cynthia hesitated; then she followed his ex- 
ample, and rose. Together they wended their way along 
the margin of the little lake to where the stream emerged 
from it in a tiny cataract of foaming water. Here they 
established themselves on the grass, Bannatyne with the 
air of one who has taken up a permanent situation, but 
Lady Cynthia gingerly, and with the appearance of one 
temporarily resting and armed for flight at any moment. 

144 


Hermia 


That was a good idea of yours,” he observed. 

‘‘ It was your idea,” said she, smiling, 

“Was it? Well, it was a combined idea. We col- 
laborated in it. Collaboration is the source of all bril- 
liant notions. It stands to reason two heads are better 
than one ; and two hearts also, for that matter.” 

“ You mean two imaginations ? ” asked Lady Cynthia. 

“ That, too — two everythings. The marriage of true 
minds is the only salvation of the world. By isolation 
we fall; in union we live. That is the explanation of 
matrimony, of course. Don’t you know the ultimate law 
of the universe. Lady Cynthia? We’ve been trying to 
get the Greatest Common Measure of things for cen- 
turies. We haven’t got it yet, but we’ve got near to it. 
The highest law of evolution is How. That stream 
flows, you flow, and I flow. We answer to a rhythm; 
and so flows the eternal stream of unending lovers from 
the beginnings of a myriad eons ago. Union is strength, 
and flow is life.” 

He was gazing meditatively into the water, and Lady 
Cynthia watched him. She could not understand all that 
he said, but it interested her. It had the effect of opening 
up new thoughts in her mind. What was this flow which 
seemed to express the riddle of the universe? She 
wanted to ask some questions, but when he spoke it was 
on quite another topic. 

“ Who is Miss Ashcroft ? ” 

Lady Cynthia wished that he were not quite so vola- 
tile, but she answered : 

“ She has rather a big place in Gloucestershire, and 

145 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


goes in for gardening. She has some twenty gardeners 
under her own supervision, I believe.” 

“ What a pity she isn’t in the cast ! ” said Bannatyne, 
still looking into the water. “ She would have made a 
capital Puck” 

“ Puck ! ” she echoed, with a puzzled smile. 

“ Yes, Puck. I’m sure she’s capable of doing more 
mischief than all the rest of us put together. Puck 
would be a — well, a duffer to her. She ought to play 
Puck. By the way, have we got a Puck yet ? ” 

Lady Cynthia did not think so. Bannatyne shook his 
head. “ It seems to me that Hancock is muffing this 
show,” he observed. No Bottom, no Puck. Oh, by 
the way, we have a Bottom ; I had forgotten.” 

“ The cobbler, you said,” said Lady Cynthia. 

He nodded. A rare spirit, a genuine Shakespearean 
hind. I thought all cobblers were gloomy atheists. This 
one seems to be a jovial optimist. But we ought to have 
a Puck. Lady Herrington thinks that the character 
might be played in short skirts and a wand. What do 
you say ? ” 

He eyed her interrogatively. 

I — I don’t quite see how it could be done,” said 
Lady Cynthia doubtfully. “ Puck, you see, isn’t — Puck 
is a man.” 

‘‘ No, a spirit,” said he ; “ by no means the same 
thing, believe me.” 

“ Well, at any rate, it isn’t a girl,” said Lady Cynthia 
emphatically. 

He took off his hat to let the air play about his head. 
146 


Hermia 


“ No, perhaps not/’ he said. “ But still it might be 
managed if only some one would be willing,” he added, 
looking at her. 

Lady Cynthia ignored this. “ Do you know your 
part?” she asked. 

“ Will you hear me ? ” he asked. 

She shook her head, smiling. Oh, dear, no ! ” said 
she. 

I wonder if some one would — Miss Ashcroft, for ex- 
ample ? ” he said. 

“ It is quite possible,” said Lady Cynthia indifferently. 

'' But it is possible she wouldn’t,” he said. “ Women 
are so selfish/’ 

Lady Cynthia raised her eyebrows lightly. ^‘Are 
they ? ” she inquired. 

'' When I say that, I do not, of course, include all 
women,” he hastened to explain. All generalizations 
include and presuppose a minority report. Lady Cynthia, 
not excepting that chief generalization, the House of 
Commons.” 

“ I don’t think I quite understand that,” remarked 
Lady Cynthia. 

“ I don’t either,” he said cheerfully. 

Lady Cynthia’s teeth of pearl appeared on the rim of 
her red lip, as if she struggled with a smile. She averted 
her head. Mr. Bannatyne was quite absurd, but his com- 
pany was enlivening. She was contented to sit there with 
the murmur of the fall in her ears, fanned by the cool 
air, and to listen to his nonsense. Bannatyne also found 
it very pleasant, stretched at length upon the grassy 

147 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


bank, to divide his glances between his companion and 
the scenery. A fish leaped in the pool and caught his 
eye, which then strayed back to Lady Cynthia. She sat 
with her skirts tucked backward, supporting herself on 
one shapely arm. A plain amethystine brooch gathered 
the folds of her dress at the bosom. She had the air of 
maidenly aloofness, of a serene virginity, of a prettiness 
undisturbed by any distressing problems or fears, of a 
grace rather pure than rich, of a single-mindedness 
and sincerity. But who could tell what that untroubled 
breast was capable of? The surface of the waters 
was as quiet as the pool they lay by, \^ut when the 
waters should be troubled — ? No maiden can have 
any real knowledge of life, or even of herself. But 
perhaps, like all generalizatibns, this presupposes a 
minority report. 

Bannatyne, admiring more deeply now that he had 
realized her beauty, was gazing at her profile when his 
attention was caught by something on the wooded height 
behind. Something white was moving among the under- 
growth, and he followed its course. It wavered, came to 
a halt, proceeded again; it was mounting slowly. Pres- 
ently it emerged into an open space and fronted toward 
the stream. The distance was not great, and he thought 
he recognized the figure now. It was Miss Grant- 
Summers. 

Bannatyne was convinced that she was looking down 
on them, and he was almost induced to wave a signal to 
her, a friendly signal to disperse suspicions. If two peo- 
ple met and lingered by a woodland lake it was not neces- 
148 


Hernia 


sarily under the rose. But the question which his mind 
suddenly was concerned with was why he desired to 
demonstrate to Miss Grant-Summers that they were not 
covertly there. He could not say. Was it because of 
Miss Grant- Summers, or because of Lady Cynthia? This 
was too subtle for him, and he discarded the train of 
thought. Women had always stood for much in his life. 
He had an extravagant vein of sentiment, which was, 
however, preserved from sentimentalism by his sense of 
humor. As he looked, he recalled his second rout by 
Miss Ashcroft just before lunch, and recalled also that 
he had not minded it very much. But he was no farther 
than he had been the night before. It was time he did 
something to elucidate the mystery, if he was ever going 
to elucidate it. Women are all humbugs, he thought, 
gazing. The odds were that the Dryad was one of those 
he had encountered. No one had turned a hair, so to 
speak, yet one must be the Dryad. In the circumstances 
he had no option save to conduct a rigid inquiry, and he 
must make a beginning. 

He raised himself quickly. After all, it was natural 
to begin with Hermia, for Hermia was his. And there 
stood Miss Grant-Summers waiting. He got to his 
feet. 

Dear me, I must learn my part,’' said he apolo- 
getically. '' I must get some one to hear me, since you 
won’t. Lady Cynthia.” 

The girl did not offer to rise. She smiled at him 
amiably, and nodded. '' Mr. Hancock will be dreadful 
if you don’t know it,” she warned him. 

149 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


“ That’s terrorizing me. I must take steps at once,” 
he declared, and raised his hat. He really wavered. 
He was quite happy where he was, but he had his duty 
to perform. It would not wait one moment longer. He 
moved off round the margin of the lake, and struck up 
the hill. It was not until ten minutes later that Lady 
Cynthia moved. Then she got up, shook her skirts, and 
set her hat anew; after which she cast an eye upward 
toward the wood. Two figures were boldly in view, 
a man’s and a woman’s, through the interstices of the 
screening foliage. She made out both, and it was ob- 
vious that the man, at a lower level, was endeavoring 
to overtake the woman. Lady Cynthia turned her calm 
eyes on them for a minute or two, and then her lips 
assumed a little curve of disdain. 

“ So that’s learning his part,” she said, as she left 
the spot on the road to the Hall. 

Bannatyne had gone swiftly upward by the rough 
track, and he caught up with Miss Grant-Summers 
toward the top, where a seat stood under rhododendrons, 
and there was a vista in the pines, undergrown with 
bracken. Her eyes were bright beyond usual, and her 
demeanor was that of one in a pleasurable tension. She 
parted her full lips in a smile as he approached. 

I thought it was you,” she said lightly. 

There was, Bannatyne felt, a delicate assumption in 
both her words and her tone that he had come because 
he had seen her, because she had challenged him. She 
was as radiant to-day in the fullness of the afternoon as 
she had been at the supper table, as rich and full-flowered. 

150 


Hermia 


Her dress was by no means plain, and it seemed in 
keeping with her luscious beauty. 

“ I didn’t quite make out who else was there,” she 
said tentatively. 

Bannatyne looked at her with his shy smile. ‘‘ Lady 
Cynthia refused to hear my part. Won’t you, please?” 

“ Don’t you think I shall hear enough of it this 
evening?” she asked lightly. 

‘'Hermia might be kind to her Lysander/* he said 
playfully. 

“ I think he required keeping in order a good deal,” 
remarked Miss Grant- Summers. His behavior was not 
all that fancy might have painted.” 

Bannatyne concluded in his mind that Miss Grant- 
Summers allowed herself a full liberty; she did not 
shrink from the broad red blood of life. Well, so much 
the better. Moreover, it promised sport for his search. 
She could smile and smile, and be a hypocrite, he was 
certain. A belief began to grow in him that she was the 
heroine of his adventure. 

“ One good turn deserves another,” he remarked. 
“ We will hear each other. Surely the occasion is ap- 
propriate. Let us rehearse as we go along.” 

Miss Grant-Summers looked doubtful. “ If we sat 
here we might do it,” she said. 

Please, let us walk,” he pleaded. “ I want to 
mount to the top and see the world and the goodness 
thereof. You can see over the shoulder of the downs 
to the weald from the ring of pines above.” 

Still she hesitated, and then leaned gracefully on 

151 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


her sunshade. ‘‘ The fact is, Fm awaiting some one,’' 
she explained, looking brilliant. Fm not sure it’s not 
three people.” 

“ What an assignation ! ” he declared, knowing that 
this would be permitted to him. 

“ Surely the numbers whitewash it,” she retorted. 

I believe Captain Madgwick, Mr. Gay, and Mr. Ather- 
ton are on their way to the Hall for something of mine. 
It was very ridiculous of them, but they took it into 
their heads. I left a handkerchief behind, and I suppose 
they wanted to discover who — was fleetest.” 

She sat down, as she spoke, on the broad seat, and 
thus invited him to join her. 

''And the reward?” he asked, not joining her. 

" Oh, there was no award mentioned,” said Miss 
Grant-Summers lightly. " Virtue is to be its own re- 
ward.” 

" There must be some reward,” he insisted. 

" The handkerchief,” she suggested airily. 

" Suppose they have a dead heat ? ” 

" It might be divided,” said she. 

" No.” Bannatyne approached the seat. " You have 
put yourself in rather a quandary,” he said. " The best 
thing you can do is to run away from it. Come with 
me.” 

" What do you mean ? ” she asked, laughing ap- 
preciatively. 

"Don’t you know the story of the girl with five 
lovers, four of whom jumped into the sea to save her; 
and so she promptly married the dry one ? ” 

152 


Hermia 


Miss Grant- Summers laughed louder. “ Are you the 
dry one ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes,” said Bannatyne, shyly audacious. “ Won’t 
you — ” He left his invitation unended; but it was im- 
possible not to associate it with his anecdote. Miss 
Grant- Summers flushed deeply, and she was not given to 
flush. His delicate masterfulness took hold of her. 

“ You make me as conscienceless as yourself,” she 
declared, as she rose with deliberate grace. 

They mounted slowly along the winding path, and 
the seat was soon lost in a turn among the spreading 
bushes. 

“ ‘ Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood,’ ” 
said Bannatyne, so suddenly, and with such circum- 
stantiality of address, that Miss Grant-Summers started. 
Instantly she colored, and the next moment sex was at 
the summit of triumph in her. It stood armed to the 
glove tips with capacity and combativeness. The femi- 
nine breathed from her very aspect. Her eyes were un- 
duly bright. 

“Do you really wish to?” she asked, smiling; “or 
were you merely repeating casually ? ” 

“ The situation caught my thoughts,” he said. 
“ Please let us go on.” 

“ ‘Be it so, Lysander; find you out a bed ; 

For I upon this bank will rest my head.’” 

As she spoke Bannatyne stopped. “ Ought we to en- 
act the scene as well?” he asked slyly. “There is a 
bank.” 


11 


153 


A Midsummer Days Dream 

Miss Grant-Summers glanced at the brackened slope, 
and then at him. 

“ I don’t thjnk it’s quite demanded by circumstances,” 
she responded. But I make no objection to your do- 
ing so.” 

That would be half-hearted,” he objected. 

“ ‘ One turf shall serve as pillow for us both; 

One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.’ ” 

'' I think,” said Miss Grant-Summers quickly, “ that 
Mr. Hancock has cut a good deal just there.” 

“ Oh ! ” he looked his dismay. And I’d learned 
it all up so carefully. Well — 

‘ Here is my bed; sleep give thee all thy rest ! ’ ” 

“ ‘ With half that wish the wisher’s eyes be press’d ! ’ ” 
declaimed Hermia. 

“ Stage directions, ‘ they sleep,’ ” said Bannatyne. 
‘‘ I suppose you don’t want to sleep. It is hot, though. 
Let’s get farther away from Madgwick and his rivals. 
I don’t feel safe here.” 

Miss Grant-Summers laughed, as if she had nothing 
on her conscience. She was, in fact, royally indifferent. 

“ You’d better begin your abuse of me,” she said, 
with significant eyes. There was no mistaking their 
meaning. They challenged him on the word “ abuse.” 

He responded dutifully : I cannot. I cannot. I 

absolutely refuse to. 

‘ Hang off, thou cat, thou burr ! ’ 

The man was mad.” 

154 


Hermia 


Oh, that, of course, was the drug,” she said lightly. 

“ ‘ Out, loathed medicine ! O hated potion, hence ! ’ 

ril get Hancock to cut that, too,” said Bannatyne. 

But the point will be gone, Mr. Bannatyne,” she 
protested, handsomely smiling. I might as well object 
to the terms in which I have to address Helena : 

“ ‘ Oh, me! you juggler ! you canker-bipssom I ’ ” 

0 Helena ! that’s quite another matter,” said he. 

1 think I’m rather cattish in my address,” said she. 
‘‘ Hermia certainly lacked manners. 

*How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak; 

How low am I? I am not yet so low 
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.’ 

I am low distinctly.” Miss Grant-Summers made a 
pretty pause here, and then went on : “ But I have my 
doubts if I am sufficiently low in the other sense to play 
my part adequately, 

* Because I am so dwarfish, and so low? ’ 

You wouldn’t say I was exactly dwarfish, would you, 
Mr. Bannatyne?” 

Again he was challenged by her eyes. He shook his 
head. Good heavens ; no. But that is of no conse- 
quence. Hamlet, who was fat, and scant of breath, 
invariably appears on the stage as meager as a rake and 
talks nineteen to the dozen. And Hermia '' — he looked 
at her carefully with a measuring eye — '^Hermia must 

155 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


be five feet six, when she should be dwarfish — say five 
feet or under.’" 

“ Five-five, as it actually happens,” said Miss Grant- 
Summers with a laugh. “ At least, I don’t answer to 
Lysander's contemptuous description of me: 

“‘Get you gone, you dwarf; 

You minimus, of hind’ring knot-grass made; 

You bead, you acorn ! ’ ” 

“And I’ve got to say all that,” said Bannatyne sadly. 
“ I wish Hancock would cut all that, and leave the 
other in.” 

“ You are quite incorrigible,” she laughed at him. 

But Bannatyne was standing with his hat off, his face 
to the west, where on the ramparts of the distant hills 
arose the parks and towers of a great school. Below, 
Temple Hall lay enmeshed in the luxuriant summer 
leafage, its red worn front taking the high sun. Banna- 
tyne remembered Madgwick and his mission, and he also 
suddenly - remembered something else. His quick mind 
swung round into the new channel. 

“ Five-five,” he repeated aloud. “ Does that mean 
fives for gloves and fives for boots ? ” 

“ I really don’t know what number I take in gloves 
or boots,” said she. “ One doesn’t buy that way.” 

“Oh!” said he, “don’t you? Well, now I come to 
think of it, I don’t either. But some people do.” 

“ Oh, I suppose there are some people who do,” said 
Miss Grant-Summers indifferently. 

Her indifference might be part of the splendid men- 


Hermia 


dacity of which women are capable, and Bannatyne was 
baffled. Yet she probably would not buy shoes which 
were numbered. The vision of the village maiden rose 
again before him threateningly. But a village maiden 
could not have stolen his shoe. It was puzzling. He 
thought he saw a deep gulf yawning between himself and 
this beautiful woman. She was not his princess. 

Miss Grant- Summers had sat down on the pine knoll 
contentedly, but Bannatyne’s bosom was full of unrest. 

“ Hark ! ” he said, as sounds came up the wood. 
“ Here are the hounds. We must take cover.” 

Fm going to stay here,” said Hermia invitingly. 

I can’t possibly,” he told her. “ I cannot stay and 
witness the triumph of Madgwick.” 

“ Perhaps he won’t win the race,” she suggested. 

If you’d only given me a chance,” he said re- 
proachfully. 

I had nothing to do with it,” said she. '' I have 
nothing to do with it. Some one is good enough to bring 
me a handkerchief. That’s all.” 

Yes, that’s all ; but it’s symbolic. We are ruled by 
symbolism. We die for it. A flag is a symbol, but it is 
also an ideal^ and blood has flowed, since the world 
began, about a flag. So two hearts have ached and 
broken, since the world began, about a handkerchief.” 

“ ‘ Men have died and worms have eaten them, but not for love,’ ” 
she quoted. 

“ The devil can quote Scripture,” he retorted. 

Thank you,” said she. 

157 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


“ And angels cynicism,” he continued. “ I feel most 
uneasy sitting here. If they find me, they’ll — What do 
you think they’ll do to me ? ” 

She laughed. “ I really can’t say.” 

“Of course, they ought to offer me their congratula- 
tions as victor, but they won’t.” 

The noise of some one hurrying was nearer now, 
and Bannatyne rose. “ I can’t face them,” he said. “ I 
am constitutionally a coward. Besides, how can I witness 
some one else’s triumph ? Won’t you come ? ” 

She shook her head. “ I want my handkerchief.” 

“ I wish you’d give me something to do,” he said 
regretfully, walking away. “ I would have willingly 
fetched you anything — a handkerchief, a hat^ or number 
five shoes.” 

“ I don’t wear fives,” called out Miss Grant-Sum- 
mers to his retreating figure. “ I don’t know anything 
about numbers.” 

He disappeared into the underwood. 


158 


CHAPTER X 


SYLVIA Latham’s daughter 

Bannatyne went down the hill “ thorough bush, 
thorough brier,” and did not encounter any of the com- 
petitors. He fled not so much from them as from Miss 
Grant-Summers. She was not his princess, he decided, 
and, on the whole, he thought he was glad she was not. 
His next step must be to experiment with Helena, and 
meanwhile he determined to interview Miss Ashcroft 
again, even at the risk of a third rout. He had begun 
not to dislike these exchanges with her, and mentally he 
did homage to her wonderful capacity. 

He wandered into the gardens, through the orchard 
and the rosery, where his thoughts centered more con- 
cretely on Miss Ashcroft. He found the Gloire Lyon- 
naise bush, and stood before it in a profound meditation 
for some minutes. Would it render up its secret? This 
pursuit of his was born at the outset of a whimsical idea, 
but in proportion to his defeat his interest rose. He had 
been baffled so oddly that he had begun to take the hunt 
quite seriously. It not only whiled away some pleasant 
idle hours, but it assumed the attractiveness of a piece of 
detective work. It was as engrossing by now as a prob- 
lem in chess or a game of bridge. Indeed, it was more 
engrossing, inasmuch as there were human elements in 

159 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


it which loomed romantically in his airy fancy. The 
place was full of fair women, and one of these was to be 
ruthlessly tracked down and identified. Would the rose 
help? 

He plucked a bloom in the bud and set it in his coat. 
He liked to look upon it in the light of a gage of battle. 
While he wore La Gloire Lyonnaise, the enemy should 
be advised of his intention to fight to the bitter end. 
That rose was his emblem of constancy. He pursued 
his path with light footsteps out upon the southern lawns 
which sloped gently to the brimming stream. A bridge 
gave access to the continuing lawns beyond, till finally 
the vision of the eye was closed in by shrubberies and 
the wooded heights beyond, from which he had just de- 
scended. The water bubbled musically between the banks 
of greensward, a clear, cool rivulet, unbroken by weed 
and free of wild flowers on the marge, in its passage 
through the pleasaunce. Trout hung in the depths, or 
flashed against the current on an alarm. Bannatyne 
crossed the bridge and walked by the borders beyond, 
bright now with “ bedding ” plants, and fragrant with 
sweet peas. Masses of clematis of various hues rolled 
round the wooden bowers and pillars which diversified 
the gravel pathway. 

As he walked in his leisurely way, drinking in with 
delight the sights and sounds about him, he was aware 
of a humming in the air, as of the low droning of bag- 
pipes. Indifferently he looked up, but the sound seemed 
remote, arising from a great distance, as it might be the 
far-off roar of a great city dwindled to a murmur. He 
i6o 


Sylvia Latham's Daughter 

proceeded a dozen paces, when the sound seemed to have 
increased in volume, and as he stood listening, it swelled 
audibly with each moment of time. By this time he was 
alive with interest and curiosity, and his gaze wandered 
inquisitively in the air for some sign which would reveal 
the source of this strange sound. Presently the air above 
him appeared to be thick with flies, streaming restlessly 
to and fro, yet bent on a definite mission. Then he 
understood. The bees were swarming. 

No one particularly wants a swarm in July, but the 
bees do not take human wishes into account. Where the 
queen goes, they follow; and her majesty was winging 
her way now above Bannatyne’s head on some unknown 
adventure, impelled by some mysterious instinct, and with 
no knowledge of her destination. With equal ignorance, 
and moved by equally as blind an instinct, the swarm 
pursued her. 

The buzzing was loud in heaven for a few minutes, 
and then the living cloud trailed away over the border. 
Bannatyne resumed his walk; but he had gone little 
more than a dozen paces when he was arrested by a cry. 
He stopped, for that cry had gone straight to the center 
of his nerves ; it spelled fear ; it betokened horror. There 
was in it a nameless tragic note that thrilled him. As 
he waited, it was repeated, and had now risen to a 
scream, and a scream is terrifying always in its very 
thinness. It came from across the lawn. Bannatyne 
rushed in that direction. He leaped over a flower bed, 
pushed through the shrubbery, and emerged on the path 
at a point where the stream curved, and where on the 
i6i 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


smooth grass, to face the undulating water, a summer 
house had been built, embowered in flowering bushes. 
As he reached it a human note again struck on his ears, 
not a cry this time, but a gasp, which was almost more 
disquieting. In his preoccupation with this phenomenon, 
he did not notice the presence of discomfited bees circling 
blunderingly in the air. 

At the door of the summer house, however, the situa- 
tion burst upon him. Miss Latham, white of face in 
her white muslin gown, was on the seat, her slim young 
body thrown back into one corner, and her starting eyes 
fixed with an expression of horror, of panic, on a black 
mass that moved and crumbled and changed and remade 
itself, upon the skirt of her dress that rested on the seat. 
The summer house was thick with bees — bees hurrying 
to the swarm, bees in search of it, disconsolate, angry 
bees, bees blundering and vicious of aspect. 

“ Keep still, keep still,” said Bannatyne in a voice 
which would have been quiet if he could have made it. 

Keep still ; I am here.” 

He went up to her, and took her hand. “ Don’t 
move, child; don’t move. All will go well if you trust 
to me. Are you listening ? ” 

Her lips parted, and he seemed to hear a faint Yes.” 
He pressed her hand, which was as cold as the hand of 
the dead. “ Can you stay where you are ? ” he asked. 

Is the position hurting you ? ” 

“ No,” issued faintly from the girl’s lips. 

''Very well. Now I will sit down beside you, and 
show you how little need there is for your alarm,” he 
162 


Sylvia Latham^s Daughter 


went on in his delightful voice. He sat down, and put 
an arm about her to support her, lest she should slip 
despite her negative, and, falling, scatter the deadly 
swarm beside her. The warm pressure of his arm 
seemed to give the girl relief, or respite rather, from her 
fears. 

“ Can you send them away ? ” she gasped. 

“ Very easily,” he said, holding her closer. “ You 
see, it’s all the queen. She blunders away somewhere, 
and the horde have only just got sense enough to follow. 
They know no more. The queen chooses some suitable 
place to begin the new life in, and they blindly rally 
to her. She has made a mistake this time; and she 
shall know it. Find the queen, remove her, and they 
will all follow,” he ended cheerily. 

“ Can you find her? ” asked Miss Latham anxiously; 
but she was not so deathly white as she had been. 

“ Why, of course,” he declared. “ She’s in that mass, 
but she’s easily detected because she’s so big. And if 
you will just sit here quietly, as you’re doing, a little 

while, I will soon bring a gardener and ” 

Oh, please, no — no ; don’t leave me ! ” she pleaded 
almost in tears, and clung to him. Panic had seized upon 
her once more. She was, it seemed, on the edge of 
hysteria. 

Bannatyne quickly considered. He knew little or 
nothing about bees, and he certainly did not know how 
to find the queen. If he made the attempt, it was possible 
that he might disturb and enrage the swarm, with terrible 
results to both of them. Bees, he remembered, had been 
163 


A Midsummer Day’s Dream 


known to cause death ; and, looking on that scared face 
and little head, and that young pulsing body he held in 
his arms, he could not but be frightened at the prospect 
before him in case of failure. Shock would easily de- 
stroy that delicate life within. His heart sank. 

“ I should only be three minutes at the most,’^ he 
said in a reassuring voice. “ There’s certain to be a 
gardener about. And we’ve been here more than three 
minutes, and nothing has happened. The bees won’t 
touch you. They’ve only one idea — which is, to keep 
close to the queen. Such is their loyalty.” 

He felt her grasp tighten. “ No ; I dare not,” she 
breathed. “ I should die — I should die ! ” 

Bannatyne said nothing, but let his glance go over 
her face, small as a child’s and as wild-sweet. Her 
eyes were closed, as if to shut out a dreaded sight. 
She had surrendered herself to him; she had no voice 
in her own destiny; it was his affair. His gaze went 
down to the seat on which the skirt rested with its awful 
burden. The black mass, inert, but crumbling and mov- 
ing, was within an inch or so of her body. It was the 
time for heroic measures. He slowly removed his arms, 
whispering : 

“ I’m not going to leave you. Be brave. I’m going 
to get rid of them another way.” . 

She let him go reluctantly, and with a gasp in her 
throat. 

Be brave ! ” he urged ; “ I know you will, child.” 
He was now on his feet. He quickly took a knife from 
his pocket and opened the big blade. 

164 


Sylvia Lathafn^s Daughter 


She was watching him. “ What are you going to 
do ? ” she asked in that low voice which they had in- 
voluntarily assumed, as if to avoid alarming the bees. 

“ I’m going to cut off your skirt,” said Bannatyne, 
with a reassuring smile. “ It won’t take long. Shut 
your eyes, and pretend you’re in bed, child.” 

Miss Latham shut her eyes obediently, and he took 
hold of her dress. He must not excite the swarm, so 
that he was forced to begin with his knife well away 
from it. At the first cut and the rip that followed she 
gave a little shiver and a start; but after that she was 
still, her eyes remaining closed, her breath coming hard. 

Bannatyne stripped the muslin to the hem, and then 
sawed through that with his knife; that done, he began 
on the other side, until he had completed his task. It 
took him a few minutes, and the angry bees that had 
not settled, whirled about his head. But now a piece 
of the skirt had been completely cut away, and, dropping 
his knife, he stooped again, put his arms gently round 
the motionless girl, and drew her softly and cautiously 
away. He lifted her, still with drawn eyes, and carried 
her tenderly out of the arbor and set her down on the 
quiet grass that looked on the placid, happy stream. As 
he did this she opened her eyes and breathed deeply. 

“ Oh ! ” she sighed, ‘‘ you have saved — I’m falling — I 
can’t see.” 

He caught her and held her to him, the white pet- 
ticoat which the destruction of her dress had revealed 
swaying softly in the wind. 

Miss Latham sighed again. 

i6s 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


“ You will soon be better/’ he said encouragingly. 

'' How can I thank you ? ” she murmured. It was 
terrible ! ” She shuddered. 

'' I’m afraid,” said Bannatyne ruefully, I’ve ruined 
your dress.” 

She cast a glance at her skirt, and color crept into 
her face. 

It’s of no matter,” she said weakly. I’m only 
grateful to you.” 

'' Tell me how it happened,” he asked, to distract 
her mind. “We can sit under this apple tree and gaze 
in the stream. How softly it flows! — doesn’t it? I 
wish life flowed like that, without alarms, without noise, 
without bees — placidly, pleasantly, to a happy murmur 
of music. There should always be running water in a 
landscape. Tell me how it happened.” 

“ I hardly know,” said the girl confusedly. “ I 
didn’t notice anything at first; I only heard a hum- 
ming, and I didn’t pay any attention, and then I found 
they were settling.” 

Bannatyne held up a finger at her. “ Confess,” said 
he playfully, “ you were asleep — you were having an 
afternoon nap.” 

Miss Latham flushed, and smiled dimly. “ Perhaps 
I was just a little sleepy,” she admitted. “ The sun 
... I was reading a book, and it wasn’t very in- 
teresting.” 

“ And now here’s a crow to pluck with you,” went on 
Bannatyne with levity. “You made off as soon as you 
saw me coming, just after lunch. Lady Cynthia had 
i66 


Sylvia Latham* s Daughter 

more generosity ; she stayed. But you turned your back 
on me. Oh, Miss Latham, unkind, cruel, ruthless Miss 
Latham ! And I was a friend of your mother’s^ too.” 

“You knew my mother?” she asked quickly, with 
a sudden display of almost breathless interest. 

Bannatyne looked into the moving face of the wa- 
ter, where cool shadows checkered the sunshine. 

“ Yes,” he said abstractedly, and his manner had un- 
dergone a revolution. He spoke even slowly. “ I knew 
her fifteen years ago.” 

“ She died when I was only seven,” said the girl. 

Bannatyne gazed at her, but she was now watching 
the water. He ^ took her for twenty; she must have been 
a child of five when he knew Sylvia Latham, and had 
been in love with her wildly through one season. The 
passion of a boy of twenty is invariably devout and 
untouched of earth ; and Sylvia Latham, a beautiful 
young woman of five-and-twenty, had encouraged his 
visits with good temper, been moved a little by his de- 
votion, and laughingly set it aside. It was undeclared, 
but it was in the air. Latham himself had been amused by 
it. Bannatyne recalled now to memory features in that 
face in the grave which spoke to him again in the young 
kindling face before him. He sighed. How one sighs 
at the memories of twenty, a wild, a foolish, and an 
honest age! It seemed so strange to be sitting there 
with Sylvia Latham’s daughter. The inconsequent 
strain in Bannatyne’s mind moved him to quotation. He 
had done homage to the occasion and the memory. He 
murmured : “ ‘ By the waters of Babylon we sat down 
167 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


and wept, when we remembered thee, O Zion.’ Zion, 
Miss Kitty, is our past, our youth — ‘youth, the isle of 
voices,’ that calls to us across melancholy seas.” He 
sighed. “ Well, we are by the waters of Babylon ; can 
you not hear them babbling? If Bouverie had said that 
I should have punched him, and I hope you would have 
pinched him. Miss Kitty. But I love the voice of the 
waters. Will you ever weep when you remember your 
lost youth by the waters of Babylon? Ah, me! Your 
mother was but little older than you when I remember 
her, Kitty.” 

He was unaware that he had used her name so in- 
timately, but it struck on her ears with a sound of 
alarm, and something else. It thrilled her, somehow. 
He had spoken almost abruptly, and he rose. “ You had 
better get in and see to things, hadn’t you ? ” he asked 
pleasantly, with a quick change of manner. 

Kitty Latham flushed prettily. She was suddenly 
aware of herself and her wrecked dress. She scurried off 
with the noiseless speed of some denizen of the woods. 
Bannatyne looked after, the flash of white in his eye, 
as she disappeared through the bushes. 

“Is it Kitty, by any chance?” he murmured, and 
then straightened himself. “ She has the gait of a dryad, 
by Jove ! ” he said with interest. 

As he went up to the house his thoughts were taken 
up much with the past. He could remember the shock 
with which he had heard of Mrs. Latham’s death when 
he was on wild Pacific shores. It did not seem so very 
far away, now that he had summoned the ghosts from 
i68 


Sylvia Latham^s Daughter 


the graves, and yet here was Sylvia Latham’s daughter 
grown up. 

“ O Heart that never beats nor heaves 
In that one darkness lying still. . . 

Rossetti’s lines sprang to his mind. It was terrible to 
think of that silence fallen on the beautiful woman 
thirteen long years since. The tears were in his eyes as 
he met Hancock on the terrace above the lawn. 

“ Lady Coombe’s been awfully obstreperous,” said 
Hancock, mopping his forehead. I don’t know when 
I’ve had a harder fight.” 

“ What’s the matter ? ” inquired Bannatyne, coming 
tardily back to earth. 

“ Oh, she’s taken on because of Cooper — swore she 
wouldn’t have him; said it would be ridiculous to have 
a Bottom from the village, and so on; asked me to 
remember she would have to play with him.” 

Well ? ” queried Bannatyne. 

“ Oh, I managed it. Declared that we were fol- 
lowing Shakespeare’s example; suggested it would form 
a valuable precedent for future casts; claimed it was 
art only that mattered, and that we must sacrifice per- 
sonal prejudices for art; and offered formally to throw 
up my post as stage manager. That settled her. She 
was plaintive, but beaten.” 

“ And here, if I mistake not, comes bully Bottom” 
said Bannatyne, looking along the terrace to a gate in 
the brick wall, at which a stout form was standing 
irresolute. Hancock waved an arm. 

169 


12 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


“ Come on, Cooper,” he called encouragingly. 

The grin on Cooper’s face dawned on them in the 
distance. He approached with a shambling gait, with 
an air of diffident and respectful self-satisfaction. 

“ I don’t know if I be late, sir,” said he as he came 
up; “but the housekeeper she gave me a little bit tea, 
and sent me on here. I told her like as how I was 
acting for you gentlemen.” 

“ Quite right — quite right,” said Hancock. “ Know 
your part?” 

“ Well, I can’t say as how I got it right off, per- 
fect like,” said Cooper, “ but sims I got the best part 
of it. I got my boy to hear me. He’s a rare good 
hand with a book, and knows a lot, he doos.” 

“ Capital ! We’ll have a hearing at once. Cooper. 
Bannatyne, would you mind asking Lady Coombe if she 
can give me five minutes? Her attendance is neces- 
sary.” He looked grimly at Bannatyne, as who should 
say, “I’m going to press my advantage, and receive 
submission in due form.” 

Bannatyne went into the house, and Hancock led 
the cobbler into a small room furnished with piano, old 
pictures, tapestry, and Jacobean chairs. Cooper gazed 
about him with open satisfaction. 

“ I never been in this room before, sir,” he confessed. 
“ I’ve been in many others, like. Not that I make for 
her ladyship; but there’s the housekeeper — I makes for 
she; and there’s the butler — I makes for he. I makes 
for a terrible lot of them.” 

Hancock took out his prompt copy. “ Well, let us 
170 


Sylvia Latham* s Daughter 


hear how you can do it, Cooper,” he said. “ I’ll read the 
lines just preceding your part, and give you the cues.” 

Cooper also opened the book which had been left for 
him in the morning. He laughed appreciatively. 

“ This here Bottom, sir,” he said, sims as if he 
wanted to play all the blessed parts. It do, don’t it? 
Wants to play Ercles, and Pyramus, and Thisbe, the 
lady, like, and a blessed roarin’ lion, too.” 

Cooper guffawed heartily, and Hancock joined him. 

“ Now,” he said when they had finished, “ is all our 
company here ? ” 

Cooper, in unconscious recollection of his schoolboy 
days, put his hands behind his back, and, standing to 
attention, began. 

Bannatyne, meanwhile, was in search of Lady 
Coombe, but could not find her. He heard that she was in 
the garden, and pursued her thither, rambling fruitlessly 
through the labyrinths. At last he returned to discover 
that she was entertaining visitors from the countryside 
to tea. Consequently he abandoned his mission as im- 
practicable, and was rejoining Hancock to tell him how 
matters stood, when he came upon a group of young 
men taking refreshments in one of the rooms. Cor- 
dials, spirits, and mineral waters of all kinds were 
spread upon the sideboard, and the siphons were sing- 
ing as Bannatyne entered. He recognized Oliver Lock 
at once with his pale face and long light hair, and he 
recognized also Gay and Walrond. There were others 
whom he did not know. It occurred to him now that 
he was very thirsty after his adventures, and he went 
171 


A Midsummer Day’s Dream 


to the sideboard for a glass. Walrond, who was by- 
way of understudying the part of host, offered him the 
whisky and seltzer and ice in turn, and he was soon 
quaffing from his glass with the dissipated air of five- 
and-twenty. 

“ Don’t you think, Mr. Bannatyne,” said Gay, who 
had edged toward him, “that it’s rather rot not fixing 
up a Puck yet ? ” 

“ Haven’t they ? ” asked Bannatyne in surprise. 
“ Good heavens ! nor have they. I had forgotten. What 
can Hancock be about? Fortunately we have secured 
Bottom,” 

Young Gay looked as if he had something on his 
mind. He dropped his eyeglass several times. “ We’ve 
just been talking it over,” he said awkwardly, “ and if 
it’s any assistance, don’t you know, I shouldn’t mind 
playing Puck.” 

Bannatyne glanced at him, and the mental associa- 
tion of that Oxford voice, that huge collar, and that 
eyeglass with Puck was too much for him. He abruptly 
turned his back, as if to lift his whisky and soda. 

“ An excellent idea ! ” he got forth at last. “ I’ll sug- 
gest it to Hancock. But who’ll play your present 
part? ” 

“ Oh, there’s not much playing in Snout” said Gay. 
“Atherton says he’ll take that on.” 

“ Hancock will be delighted,” said Bannatyne, know- 
ing that Hancock would be far from delighted, but was 
so desperate that he would probably consent to any- 
thing. “ I am seeing him now, and will speak about it.” 
172 


Sylvia Latham^s Daughter 


“ Thanks awfully,” said Gay in an offhand manner, 
as of one who had merely offered his services in the 
interests of humanity, and whose thanks, therefore, were 
merely conventional. “ I should like the thing to be 
a success.” 

You will go far to make it so,” Bannatyne gravely 
answered him. And now, who won ? ” 

Gay stared at him in wonder. Won ? ” 

Yes, who got the handkerchief, and what was his 
reward ? ” 

Gay’s mouth widened in a smile. '' Ah, you mean 
Miss Grant- Summers,” he said. “ I wonder how you 
knew. Atherton won, as a matter of fact, but I ought 
to have won.” 

“ Ethics,” said Bannatyne, “ are by no means iden- 
tical with life. Lots of things ought, but aren’t.” 

“ I fell into a gorse bush,” explained Gay in his 
clear, drawling voice. “ You see, I’m rather short- 
sighted. It’s a confounded nuisance. I didn’t see the 
blessed thing, and it turned out to be several — a regu- 
lar nest of gorse bushes. And I got infernally scratched, 
and Atherton got ahead and won.” 

What did he get ? ” inquired Bannatyne with in- 
terest. He wondered how far Miss Grant-Summers’s 
sense of romance would take her. She had enjoyed play- 
ing at being Queen of the Tourney. 

“ I believe she let him kiss her hand,” said Gay, 
with the aloofness of dignity that takes no interest in 
the facts. 

“ Is that all ? ” exclaimed Bannatyne. I thought 

173 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


she would have gone farther than that; that she would 
have extended her favors. She is of generous blood. 
Well, it becomes a queen to keep such gracious dis- 
tance. But it’s more like Helena” 

“ Helena \ ” Young Gay was staring at him again. 

“ I’ll remember Puck^ Gay,” he said, and turned 
away. 

He found Hancock superintending the recital of 
Pyramus and Thisbej and Cooper still with his hands 
behind his back, glibly iterative. 

“ ‘ Oh, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall! ’ ” 

“ Sims to me, sir, if I may express my idea,” re- 
marked Cooper diffidently, ‘'that this Bottom is a little 
bit cracked, like. And Thishe, she’s a fair cough drop.” 

He beamed on Hancock, who turned abruptly to Ban- 
natyne, and murmured through his suppressed laughter: 

“ The part was made for him. My boy, this will 
be a roaring success.” 

Bannatyiie contemplated the smiling cobbler. “Yes, 
if you can keep Lady Coombe all right,” he agreed. 

“ We’ve just got to,” said Hancock with determina- 
tion. 

“ There’s that song, sir,” said Cooper, approaching 
them with the air of one who has important news. “ If 
I can’t get it up, like, I suppose some other will do as 
well. 

“ ‘ The ousel cock, so black of hue, 

With orange tawny bill. 

The throstle with his note so true. 

The wren with little quill.’ 

174 


Sylvia Latham^s Daughter 


’Tain’t much sense in it, to my way of thinking — just 
a string o’ birds’ names — a corollary, like. Sims to me 
another song’d do just as well, if I couldn’t manage 
the music — like this, sir: 

“ ‘ ’Twas my delight of a zhoiny noight 
Of the zeazon of the year.’” 

Cooper put fine volume into his voice as he trolled 
forth the air, and Hancock stood nodding approval. 

“ Excellent ! ” he said. “ But I think we will have 
the other all the same. People have an unreasonable 
prejudice in favor of the original text. I have no fears 
on the score of your incapacity. Now I’ve heard your 
voice I can sympathize with Bottom's request to be cast 
for the lion too.” 

Cooper grinned appreciatively. 

And above all, remember,” enjoined Bannatyne, 
that you’re playing up to Lady Coombe. It is the 
well-known duty of all actors to play up to one an- 
other. They love doing it. You must feed ' Lady 
Coombe.’ ” 

“ Feed her ladyship, sir ? ” inquired the bewildered 
cobbler. 

“ Yes — allow her to score, work up to her, surrender 
the stage, feed her part.” 

I won’t have my best role spoiled, Bannatyne,” said 
Hancock decidedly. ‘‘ Shut up ! I’m stage manager 
here. Go away to your women.” 

'' Very well,” said Bannatyne resignedly, moving for 
the door ; '' but I’ve done what I could. I’ve given the 

175 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


best advice. Don’t blame me if things go wrong. Oh, 
by the way, Hancock, I’ve got you a Puck” 

Hancock turned attentive ears. 

Gay ! ” said Bannatyne. 

“ Gay ! ” echoed the other. 

Yes, eyeglass, Oxford manner, chubby face all com- 
plete. He’s burning to do it. Some one called Atherton 
will take Snout” 

Hancock threw up his shoulders. ‘‘ Have it your 
own way,” he said moodily. Some one must play it, 
and I can’t struggle against all of you. Only leave me 
Bottom. I insist on that. You can take your Puck.” 

Cooper looked from one to the other in perplexity, 
but he was still broadly agrin. 


176 


CHAPTER XI 


CONCERNING BEES — AND WASPS 

Bannatyne came to a conclusion, on which he flat- 
tered himself as a testimony to his logical powers. It 
stimulated also his weakening faith in his detective 
qualities. In turning over in his mind the affair of 
Miss Ashcroft, he was struck by a thought which he 
had previously entertained but casually. Why did Miss 
Ashcroft take the trouble to mark all the doors in the 
corridor, seeing that he could always easily ascertain 
which was her room, and seeing, moreover, that he must 
inevitably identify her? Miss Ashcroft could have had 
no reason for concealment; indeed, concealment was im- 
possible for her. Obviously, then, the concealment was 
necessary for the protection of some one else. He had 
marked a door from the cracks in which flowed light. 
It could not have been Miss Ashcroft’s, since she had 
nothing to hope from attempting to confuse him among 
a number of doors. He had not been at all careful; 
he had merely looked for a room in which there was 
a light, when he had gone back. If the room was not 
Miss Ashcroft’s, whose was it? Evidently the chain of 
reasoning led him to the assumption that the real thief 
of the shoe, the Dryad, occupied a room in the corridor, 

177 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


and that she it was who had in desperation played the 
part of Morgiana with the doors. 

This seemed to take him quite a long way. He was 
'‘getting warm,” as the nursery game has it, and he 
began also to get excited. It was now his clear duty 
to investigate the corridor and find out its tenants ; and 
that duty he would have undertaken forthwith had it 
not been for the intervention of the dinner hour. 

He sat between Miss Arden and Lady Cynthia Dane, 
and blessed his luck, or Lady Coombe’s kindly fore- 
thought. No sooner was he established than he was 
aware that Lady Cynthia was regarding him with new 
interest. “ I heard about the swarm,” she began im- 
pulsively. " Miss Latham told me. I do think it was 
splendid of you ! ” 

" It was only presence of mind. Lady Cynthia,” he 
protested; but what woman ever listened to such pro- 
tests? She shook her head. 

" I simply can’t endure wasps or bees,” she declared. 

" Wasps ! ” said Captain Madgwick from the other 
side of her. " They’re awfully spiteful beggars. They’re 
awfully cute, too. Ever see them saw off a bit of meat 
as large as life, and carry it off from the lunch table ? ” 

“ Oh, bees are much worse ! ” said Lady Cynthia. 
“ Their sting’s worse.” 

“ Quite right. Lady Cynthia,” said Bouverie’s de- 
liberate voice across the table. “ Bees take a positive 
delight in stinging ; they’d sooner sting than not. Wasps, 
on the other hand, are amiable, rather reckless, improvi- 
dent fellows, who would live and let live, if you’d let ’em. 
178 


Concerning Bees — and Wasps 


They blunder in and out of your house like good Bo- 
hemians.” 

They’re handsomer than bees, too,” said Miss Ar- 
den, attracted by these exchanges across the table. 

“ The evident sense of the house is in favor of 
wasps,” announced Bouverie solemnly. 

“ Not mine,” said Mrs. Everard Battye, shuddering. 
“ I can’t bear either of them. They drive me distracted 
if they’re about.” 

The topic widened its area, but did not set the table 
ablaze. To concentrate a large party on a subject is 
well-nigh impracticable, unless you are in the position 
of either a preacher or a lecturer. Wasps and bees 
buzzed about the table, so to speak, and reached Kitty 
Latham, where she sat toward the bottom. By this time 
they had been forgotten by the party which had set them 
on the wing. Young Gay formally asked Miss Latham 
whether she liked bees or wasps, and seemed to think 
a good deal hung on the question. She was pale of 
face, but she shook her head, smiling whitely. She did 
not want to think about the matter; she was too near 
to her shock, and the strange experience she had had 
with Bannatyne. Her eyes roved along the table and 
caught his. He greeted her with a smile, and raised his 
glass impulsively. Miss Latham’s pallor disappeared in 
a suffusion of soft color, and she turned to her neigh- 
bor, who was explaining the alteration in the cast. 

‘‘ It’s rather a bore being Puck, you know, but one 
must do one’s best. I don’t suppose I shall make more 
than an ordinary fool of myself.” 

179 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 

It gave her a tremendous shock, poor Kitty,” said 
Lady Cynthia, who had noticed her friend’s glance. 

“ No wonder,” he said sympathetically. “ She looks 
delicate.” 

“ She is rather delicate,” said she, “ but she has plenty 
of life.” 

“ Ah, her mother had vitality also — wonderful.” 

Lady Cynthia looked up at him. You knew Mrs. 
Latham ? ” she asked with interest. 

“ I had the privilege of her friendship,” he said, 
rather shortly for him ; and after a pause, ‘‘ Lady 
Cynthia, I wish you’d have some champagne. You take 
nothing.” 

“ I almost never do,” she said, smiling. 

“ On this auspicious evening try a glass,” he pleaded. 

She shook her head. “ It would get into my head,” 
she declared. 

‘‘ Well, we’re all mad, you know,” he said. “ It 
won’t matter; we’re all stark, staring mad here. Of 
course you know that.” 

She smiled again at his extravagance. I know some 
are,” she said, getting under his guard, which was al- 
ways loose and reckless. 

He acknowledged the hit with a bow. ** Well, please 
tell me some one who isn’t mad, except yourself and Miss 
Latham, let us say. That’s why I wanted you to drink 
the champagne. Your excessive sanity is noticeable. In 
a company of the insane, gone mad under the white 
moon, you are. Lady Cynthia, excruciatingly conspicu- 
ous. I fly when I see you.” 

i8o 


Concerning Bees — and Wasps 


“ Was that why you fled this afternoon? ” burst from 
her ere she was aware; and then she bit her lip in an- 
noyance. 

Bannatyne looked at his glass, and twisted it in the 
light for a moment before replying. ‘‘ I wish I could 
persuade you,” he said ; “ but you are adamantine. I 
fear you. No; I did not fly from you this afternoon be- 
cause you were not mad, because I then had some hopes 
that you were. I fled, I retreated reluctantly, rather, 
because I had an imperative mission.” 

^‘To learn your part?” she inquired, with a little 
smile which might have meant disdain. 

He glanced at her, and noted the smile. He was 
very quick. 

“ No, not to learn my part,” he said. “ I wonder 
if I might tell you.” 

Fm not curious,” she declared. 

No, but the burden is getting too much for me,” 
said he. “ I feel I must go out and cry to the grasses 
and reeds, you know, like the man in the myth, ' the 
king has ass’s ears ! ’ ” 

'' There is ample opportunity here,” said Lady 
Cynthia. 

‘'You are very young and very heartless,” he told 
her whimsically. I wish I had told the bees. That’s 
always the safest.” Lady Cynthia’s face relaxed, and 
her fine, expressive eyes grew milder; they lost their 
coldness and their distance. 

“Poor Kitty!” she said. “Was it long?” 

“ I couldn’t guess,” he said. “ It seemed a whole 
l8i 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


day, but I suppose it was only a few minutes. She be- 
haved pluckily, but she was terribly scared.” 

“ She says she was a coward,” said Lady Cynthia. 
“ She is ashamed of herself.” 

“ Oh, no, no ! ” he protested. “ I ought to know.” 

“ She will be glad to think that,” said Lady Cynthia. 
'' I wish you’d tell her that.” 

“ I will,” he declared, and resented Madgwick’s action 
in claiming her attention. They had seemed to be getting 
on so pleasantly. Her coldness was gone, nor did she 
confront him from a distance with frosty virgin eyes. If 
there was not warmth in them, at least there was light. 
She had been quite animated in speaking of her friend. 
He turned with a sigh to Miss Arden, and in an unscrupu- 
lous swoop tore her from her neighbor on the other side. 

Could you tell me Miss Grant-Summers’s name ? ” 
he inquired. 

“ Name ? ” She slowly realized. '' Oh, certainly — 
Constance ! ” 

“ Thank you so much,” he replied. “ A handsome 
name, as handsome as ” 

“ As the owner,” she finished tentatively, and smiling. 

'' I was going to say, ‘ as appropriate,’ ” he declared. 

But I have had the honor of Miss Grant-Summers’s 
acquaintance too short a time to presume; so I gladly 
adopt your emendation. But in reality I didn’t want to 
know her name. She is there, and that is enough. I 
needed a peg, an excuse, something to climb down by.” 

“ Something to climb down by ? ” Miss Arden looked 
puzzled. 


182 


Concerning Bees — and Wasps 


“ Up by, rather,’' he said. I wanted some one to 
throw me a rope. I wanted an opening — oh, I wanted 
just a ladder, a sufficient jumping-off place. The fact 
is, it was your name I wanted. Miss Arden.” 

“ Mine ! ” Miss Arden’s clear, pale face suffered 
no change, though she smiled faintly. Oh, but you 
know mine. You must have heard mine.” 

No, you’re only Miss Arden to the world,” he 
explained. '' There is only one Miss Arden ; so she 
needs no other distinguishing marks. She shines by 
herself.” 

“ Then why distinguish her by inquiring her fore- 
name ? ” she asked lightly. 

“True,” he replied. “There is no necessity; but I 
have insatiable desires. I’m sure it beseems her. I col- 
lect names as some lunatics do stamps and picture cards. 
I am a harmless lunatic.” 

“ I do not see,” said Miss Arden serenely, “ why I 
should indulge a morbid passion for collecting.” 

“ Then you’re either a Sarah or a Maria,” he de- 
cided. “ When people hesitate, I know they’re one or 
the other. You’re Maria I think ... I fear.” 

Still faintly amused. Miss Arden glanced at him. 
“ I can’t rest under that stigma,” she said, entering into 
his frolicsome mood. “ I give in. Your unholy curi- 
osity shall be gratified. But I warn you, it is a very 
odd name. Perhaps it’s even worse than Maria.” 

He looked at her expectantly, and her lips parted 
smilingly in a charming ripple of sound. 

“ Mirabel ! ” 


183 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


Mirabel ! ” he murmured. “ Why, it’s perfectly ex- 
quisite ; it’s wonderful ! And to think I never knew it, 
and that all these months have lacked the liquid beauty 
of that name! Goodness I You should wear it graven 
in a band upon your brow; it should whisper in the 
rustle of your gown; your phylacteries should be bor- 
dered with it. It’s heaven’s own music. Mirabel ! ” 

He pronounced it softly, entreatingly, drawing the 
word out slowly, in low cadence, as if loath to part 
with it. And now Miss Arden’s face had at last sur- 
rendered; the charge of delicate blood had suffused it 
slightly, and in her new color she took on a new beauty. 
She laughed at his extravagance. 

“You like it?” she said in a pleased voice. 

“ Like it I ” he echoed. “ Do you know, until I heard 
it, three minutes ago, I had not dreamed of such music. 
I had always devoutly believed in Shakespeare’s heroines. 
What a royal list of names I Imogen, Celia, Miranda, 
Sylvia, Julia, Mariana, Juliet, Rosalind, Olivia, Viola, 
Hermione — oh, the list is unending! — Desdemona, Cor- 
delia, and our own Hermia — and Helena'' His eyes 
rested on hers. “ But Mirabel surpasses all. It is para- 
mount.” 

“ I’ve always thought it so fantastic,” said Miss 
Arden. 

“ No, fantastic is that which is out of keeping with 
life. This is in key with life. It corresponds with you. 
It fits you like a glove — or a shoe,” he added deliberately. 

The color was slowly receding in the fair face, but 
a certain unusual vivacity lingered in the expression. 

184 


Concerning Bees — and Wasps 


She was at the moment buttoning her glove, for dessert 
had already been handed round; and almost as she fin- 
ished Lady Coombe rose. 

When the ladies were gone the men moved into 
closer relationship. Bouverie was keeping his immedi- 
ate neighbors on the grin with some tale of an Irish 
M.P., and Sir Edward Coombe’s hearty laugh rang 
down the room. From that the talk drifted to a more 
serious aspect of politics. Would the Government last? 
Were they playing for a fall? What would be the 
issue at the next general election? 

“ We must ask Eastwood,” said Sir Edward. He’s 
coming to-morrow.” 

“ Is he ? ” said a gray, lean local squire, brightening. 

I’d like to know what they’re really going to do about 
the army. Lord Eastwood ought to know.” 

“ Under secretaries don’t know anything,” said Bou- 
verie. 

“No doubt he’ll tell you if you ask him,” said Han- 
cock, sipping his port. 

In a bunch together, the youths, as Bouverie termed 
them, were discussing the merits of port and claret 
knowingly. 

“ He’s not come down to talk politics,” said Sir 
Edward. “ He wants to get away from them, I should 
say. There are other attractions.” 

“ Is it settled ? ” asked Bouverie. 

Sir Edward beckoned to a footman. “ Cigars,” said 
he, and then to Bouverie : “ Pretty well, I fancy. Ferris, 
have you quite finished your wine? If so, we’ll smoke. 

13 185 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


Yes, I fancy Lady Fallowfield would like it fixed up 
definitely. It’s not formal, I believe. Try those, Bou- 
verie.” 

Bannatyne had pricked up his ears, for he was of 
an inquisitive nature, and quick to understand, more- 
over. 

“ Are you referring to Lady Cynthia ? ” he asked 
his host. 

Sir Edward, lighting a cigar, paused. “Yes,” he 
grunted, “ this will settle it, I suppose. Fallowfield’s no 
money, and, of course, Eastwood’s heaps. A good thing 
all round. A rising man, too.” 

“ Eastwood would rise higher and faster, if he could 
keep his mouth shut,” said Bouverie. “ But he will 
be talking, and his ‘ wits are not so blunt, as God help, 
I would desire they were/ ” 

“ Does that mean he’s dull ? ” asked Bannatyne. 

“ He’s the triumph of the commonplace,” said Bou- 
verie. “ He’s never said a witty thing and never done 
a wise one. But he goes on safely, hedged about by 
conventions, and he has the safeguards of his order, 
being a peer.” 

Bannatyne got up. “ Damn Lord Eastwood ! ” he 
breathed softly to himself as he left the room. 

He looked at his watch and found it was close on 
nine. The dinners were shortened to leave room for 
the rehearsal by moonlight, which was Lady Coombe’s 
hobby. He resolved to join the ladies, and went part 
of the way to the drawing-room; then he changed his 
mind and came back to the entrance to the terrace. He 

i86 


Concerning Bees — and Wasps 


would smoke out in the fresh air, with the moon upon 
him. He remained there for some moments wrapped 
in thought, and then he heard footsteps behind him. 
Thinking the men had emerged at last, he turned, and 
confronted two girls linked arm in arm. He recognized 
them, and threw away the end of his cigar. 

'' You remember the address to the moon. Lady 
Cynthia,” he said, with his hand to the heavens: 

**‘Say, why is everything 

Either at sixes or at sevens? ’ 


Why is it?” 

“Is it?” asked Lady Cynthia. “Has anything hap- 
pened ? ” 

“Everything happens,” he said. 

“You mean the cast’s wrong?” she asked. 

“ Casts are generally wrong,” he answered, “ on the 
stage and in life. I hate casts, whether nature’s or Han- 
cock’s. The only respectable thing about us is that 
we’ve got two wonderful fairies.” 

Miss Latham seemed to emerge a little from the 
shadow of her companion. 

“ I didn’t thank you, Mr. Bannatyne,” she began 
hurriedly and shyly. “ I couldn’t at the time ; I was so 
upset. But now will you let me? I want so awfully 
to tell you how grateful I am to you for your bravery 
and quickness and — and goodness.” 

“ My dear Miss Latham,” said Bannatyne whimsi- 
cally, “ not for my clumsiness, nor for my dullness ? 
Really those are the only two qualities I find that I 
187 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


displayed. On making inquiries I have discovered two 
interesting facts: one is, that bees on the swarm are 
rarely vicious, and the other, that I might have shaken 
them off upon the floor, or into my hat, without any 
danger and with ease.” 

Oh, no, no ! ” she cried. “ I’m sure ” 

He smiled at her, shaking his head. “ It’s a positive 
fact,” he assured her. ^o, you see. I’ve only ruined 
a pretty dress for nothing. I’m a hero under false pre- 
tenses. And if you will do me a favor. Miss Kitty, 
you will suppress all mention of the event; for, as I 
can’t perform as a hero in it, I should only cut a ridicu- 
lous figure. My vanity would be hurt. Please, keep a 
secret.” 

Miss Latham took his request very seriously. Oh, 
but I have told some one,” she said in dismay. '' I told 

Lady Cynthia, and I told ” 

She hesitated. “ Then I must live it down,” he 
said humorously. Lady Cynthia and you must help 
me. If you will engage to keep up my spirits this even- 
ing in Titania's Glade perhaps I shall pull through. 
Conceive what it must be. Lady Cynthia, to think you’re 
doing something heroic, and to discover it was something 
ridiculous ! ” 

“ It wasn’t at all ridiculous,” said Lady Cynthia 
promptly. She put her arm in Kitty Latham’s again, 
and they moved slowly along the terrace, for at that 
moment a stream of men issued from the French win- 
dows leisurely. Lady Coombe’s voice, too, sounded 
shrilly in the background. 


i88 


Concerning Bees — and Wasps 


“ I’m sorry I told anyone, Cynthia,” said Miss La- 
tham penitently, but I really didn’t know.” 

“ Nonsense ! it doesn’t matter/’ said her friend, and 
after a moment added : “ I really think he said that for 
your sake.” 

“ For my sake ! ” echoed Kitty. But Lady Cynthia 
did not explain, for Mr. Gay, who had stalked them 
suddenly arrived on the scene. 

“Awfully jolly night for a rehearsal, isn’t it?” 

Bannatyne mingled with the group and talked, and 
presently it began to disperse, knots moving off to the 
trysting place in the glade. Bannatyne, who had been 
detained by an argument with Sir Edward, went into 
the house to get a hat, and in passing through the pic- 
ture gallery met Miss Ashcroft. She stopped him, her 
well-defined and somewhat thin features relaxing in a 
smile. 

“ Did you say you were playing Puck ? ” she asked 
abruptly. 

“ I didn’t say I was playing anything,” answered 
Bannatyne. “ But I don’t think it’s Puck. I shouldn’t 
suit the part. Puck is a mischievous, meddlesome per- 
son, devoted to tricks, and making other people uncom- 
fortable. He is malicious.” 

Miss Ashcroft appeared to reflect. “ No,” she said, 
almost absently, “ I don’t think you are malicious, but 
you’re pretty mischievous. Do you say your prayers ? ” 

“ Say my — ” Bannatyne was a little confounded at 
this remarkable inquisition. 

“ I mean,” said Miss Ashcroft, putting the book she 
189 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


carried under her arm, “ do you, when you go to bed, 
take off with your clothes your temperament, and grow 
serious ? What sort of Bannatyne goes to bed ? Oh, no ; 
I forget. I know the sort of Bannatyne that goes to 
bed.’^ 

‘‘ And I think I know the sort of Miss Ashcroft 
that — ” He was sharply interrupted. 

“ Oh, dear me, you don’t — only part of her — not all, 
by a long way! I conclude, then, you ring hollow. 
What’s under that sounding cymbal? If I tapped you 
over here — just here — what should I find?” She put 
a slender finger, on which shone a fine opal, toward his 
heart. 

He looked doubtful. “ You may try, if you like,” 
he said. I don’t think anyone has made the experi- 
ment. I’m just as anxious to know as you, I assure 
you.” 

I don’t think I’m much anxious to know,” she 
said dryly. It was only passing curiosity — a vice ex- 
cusable in a woman, but not in a man.” 

“ A man has never only curiosity,” he told her. “ His 
interest is always involved, and interest is not curiosity. 
A woman is nakedly inquisitive; a man is anxious to 
see the truth, and see it whole. His scrutiny of things 
is part of his design to make a unity of nature; in 
effect it is architectonic and analytic at once.” 

“ That sounds very fine,” said the lady. '' I’ll think 
it over.” She turned to go. 

Won’t you give me the honor of accompanying me 
to the glade of Titania?” he asked diffidently. 

190 


Concerning Bees — and Wasps 

“ Good heavens, no ! ” said Miss Ashcroft. “ What 
should I do down there? Fm not playing Puck'' 

“ I thought you might be going to witness the re- 
hearsal,” he explained weakly. 

She shook her head emphatically. ‘‘ Fm going to 
enjoy a quiet time of reading, now that all the noisy 
people are away.” 

He glanced at her book, and discerned it to be a 
novel of Balzac’s. She nodded, and left him, but he was 
arrested by her voice ere he had gone half a dozen 
paces : 

Did you get stung ? ” 

No,” said he, “ not by the bees.” 

She smiled covertly, as if appreciatory of this riposte. 

“ The wasp season will soon be on,” said she. 

Oh, I’m not looking forward to it,” he said hur- 
riedly. '' I don’t want any more wasps than — ^than there 
are.” 

There might be chances in the season which are 
wanting now,” pursued Miss Ashcroft thoughtfully. 

You might build up a new reputation. You might save 
some one else.” 

“ I think I would leave the wasps to do their worst,” 
he declared. “ You see. I’ve suffered so much myself.” 

Well,” she said over her shoulder as she resumed 
her way, ‘‘go to Titania's Glade and enjoy yourself. 
There are no wasps there — nor bees, either ; only honey.” 

“ Well, you see, I have to go — ^they expect me,” he 
called out, as she went. 


CHAPTER XII 


titania’s glade 

A PLEASANT breeze swept the embayed little valley 
which had already come to be known as Titania's Glade. 
The moon was behind the elbow of the hill, so that the 
actual theater of the performance was still in shadow, 
but the brightness of the wilderness upon the farther 
slope advertised the rising luminary. Bannatyne had 
walked solitary to the scene, and was now engaged in 
identifying the people. There was plenty of confusion 
under that ample shadow of night, for the moon had 
been counted on, and Lady Coombe was petulant, as 
though it had been Hancock’s fault that Diana delayed 
her coming. 

I can’t see at all,” she complained peevishly, “ and 
I know perfectly well that I shall miss my footing on 
this broken ground.” 

It’s all part of the practice,” said Hancock shortly, 
for he was in no humor for polite indulgence, and he 
had always been opposed to these nocturnal rehearsals. 

Isn’t he a brute ? ” said Bannatyne sympathetically, 
and Lady Coombe turned to him for consolation. 

Mr. Bannatyne, would you mind feeling if that’s a 
hole, just under my foot? I daren’t move, and — Oh, 
thanks, I thought it might be. Please give me your 
arm. This is so very uneven. Where do I lie down, 
192 


Titania^s Glade 


Mr. Hancock? Mr. Hancock, please, where do I lie 
down ? ” 

Hancock, distracted by various conflicting calls on 
him, turned : 

‘‘ Eh ? Oh, anywhere. Lady Coombe \ ” 

“ I’m afraid there’s some gorse about here,” remarked 
Peter Bouverie. I think I can remember it.” 

'' Oh, where ? Oh, Mr. Bouverie, do find out, 
please ! ” said poor Lady Coombe. It would be dread- 
ful if I lay down on gorse. I couldn’t stand it. Mr. 
Hancock, Mr. Bouverie says there’s some gorse here.” 

“ There’s some bracken over here. Lady Coombe,” 
said Gay. “ I don’t think you’ll find it uncomfortable, 
as I accidentally fell on it just now, and it did not 
really hurt.” 

Well, let us make a start,” called out Hancock’s 
stentorian voice. “ Theseus, Hippolyta, Lysander, Her- 
mia — come along ! ” 

The players engaged in the first scene gravitated to- 
ward the stage manager, who was standing on a log. 

‘‘If Hermia would only take Demetrius, we shouldn’t 
have to go through this scene at all,” whispered Banna- 
tyne to Miss Arden. 

“ Indeed ! ” she retorted, as they separated. “ What 
about Helena! You seem to think her affections trans- 
ferable.” 

“ I wish they were,” he sighed. 

The rehearsal began, and Hancock gave it grudging 
approval when it ended. 

“ Thank goodness ! ” said Bannatyne. “ Interval for 

193 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


a cigarette, Lady Cynthia. You don’t come on till the 
second act. Let’s see if we can shift the moon up a bit.” 

The girl strolled away with him after a moment of 
hesitation. My scene will be on very soon,” she said. 

“Then let them wait. It makes them realize your 
importance,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “ Why are 
we better than our fathers. Lady Cynthia? They used 
to style that moon Old Oliver. I wonder why. To us 
she is a sacrosanctity. 

‘Yon rising moon that looks for us again 
How oft hereafter shall she wax and wane; 

How oft hereafter, rising, look for us 
Through this same garden, and for one in vain?’ 

She will look for me in vain. When that time comes. 
Lady Cynthia, turn down an empty glass, to the mem- 
ory of one who nearly snorqd in church.” 

“ Please don’t jest,” said she. “ You’ve no right to 
spoil a beautiful passage.” 

“ No, I haven’t,” he admitted. “ But I’m not feel- 
ing very greatly pleased with the world at present. Be- 
sides, it’s not altogether a jest.” He paused; they were 
now in the deep shadows of the wood. “ I suppose 
you are.” 

“ I ! ” said Lady Cynthia. “ Yes, I think it’s a very 
pleasant world.” 

“ ‘ It’s a very fine world to live in, 

To spend or to lend or to give in,’” 

quoted Bannatyne. “ It has nothing but sunshine in the 
eyes of youth — and moonshine. I don’t blame youth. 
Yes, all’s right with the world.” 

194 


Titania^s Glade 


She hesitated a moment, and then answered : “ It 
might be very pleasant for you, mightn’t it?” 

” You’re thinking of money,” he said. “ On the 
score of money, I suppose yes. I have been fortunate 
in prudent forefathers. But they have got back on me 
in other ways. Look at the temperament they have 
left me.” 

“ Isn’t it a very happy temperament ? ” asked Lady 
Cynthia lightly. 

“ Exactly ; no one takes me seriously,” he complained. 

“ Isn’t that — well, isn’t it — don’t you give the im- 
pression — ” she was beginning, when he interrupted 
her. 

'' Oh, you mean, isn’t it my own fault ? Of course 
it is, but there speaks heredity. We are such stuff 
as dreams are made of. A hundred generations have 
dreamed me, and here I am, but I am not I, any more 
than you are you.” 

All this was very confusing, and Lady Cynthia felt 
it so. She did not know if Bannatyne was at all in 
earnest, or was talking of deep things beyond her. She 
answered nothing, therefore, but simply adverted to the 
rehearsal. 

“ I must be getting back.” 

He turned obediently. “ I hear we’re to be reen- 
forced to-morrow,” he observed. 

“ Reenforced ? ” 

The Government will give us the light of its coun- 
tenance. Lord Eastwood comes.” 

“ Yes, I heard so,” said she, and he could detect 

195 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


nothing in her voice, neither alacrity nor self-conscious- 
ness. 

'' I have met him twice, I think,'’ he went on. “ He 
is a rising man." 

*‘Yes." Lady Cynthia seemed to assent, and that 
was all. 

^‘You know him?" he inquired, pushing his re- 
searches further. 

Oh, yes," she said ; “ quite well." 

Bannatyne felt he was baffled. He gave it up, and 
they walked back in silence. The moon was now peer- 
ing through the trees. 

‘‘ We have succeeded," he observed, waving his hand 
toward it. “We can always succeed in what we under- 
take." 

“ You must speak for yourself, Mr. Bannatyne," she 
returned pleasantly. “ I often fail. Please crow for 
yourself. I will not be associated with you." 

“ Lady Cynthia ! " rose on the evening air. It was 
Hancock. 

“ I must go," she said with perturbation. “ They're 
waiting." 

She ran lightly across the patches of yellow moon- 
light, and she ran, to Bannatyne's eyes, like a nymph in 
the train of Diana. The miracle of her supple grace 
affected him strangely; why, he knew not, nor cared. 
But his thoughts had not time to center long on that 
flight, for Chloe Herrington met him. 

“ Oh, Mr. Bannatyne," she cried, “ where have you 
been? You have missed something. Oh, the cobbler is 
196 


Titania^s Glade 


simply splendid! I never laughed so much in my life. 
You should have heard him saying 

*The raging rocks 
And shivering shocks 
Shall break the locks 
Of prison-gates.’ 

Oh, it was the most delightful singsong you ever did 
hear! But I don’t think Lady Coombe likes it. She 
seems very cross.” 

‘‘Good heavens!” ejaculated Bannatyne, “I clean 
forgot Bottom. I wouldn’t have missed it for worlds ! 
Oh, Miss Chloe, why didn’t you come after me?” he 
said reproachfully. 

Chloe laughed awkwardly. “ I didn’t know,” she 
said. “ I thought you were ” 

“ Yes, I was, but I’ve missed Bottom. No, I haven’t. 
I shall hear him at his best presently. Stand here with 
me and listen. Miss Chloe. Who’s that in the white 
ring of moonlight?” 

“ Why, Lady Cynthia,” said his companion in sur- 
prise. 

“ Oh, yes ; dazzle my eyes, or do I see Mr. Gay ? It 
is; it isn’t; it is. How will he enter, think you — with 
chimney-pot hat in his hand, and his eyeglass? ‘Enter 
from opposite sides, a Fairy and Puck.' Hush, here they 
come, and he has got his opera hat on. No, but he does 
wear his eyeglass.” 


“ * How now, spirit! whither wander you ? ’ ” 

197 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


The tone was high clarion; the accents were the 
faultless accents of Oxford. Young Gay fingered his 
eyeglass in his eye to direct it more closely upon Lady 
Cynthia Dane, who advanced to greet him. Her voice 
killed the humor of his for Bannatyne’s ears; it was 
sweet, low, melodious, and it carried clear and far, like 
low cadences, or the musical ripple of a brook. 

“‘Over hill, over dale. 

Thorough bush, thorough brier, 

Over park, over pale. 

Thorough flood, thorough fire . . ” 

Bannatyne’s thoughts passed off into a reverie, 
through which the music of the verse beat softly, and 
then suddenly Lady Coombe and Bouverie crowded the 
grassy stage with their respective trains. The magnificent 
poetry of the succeeding scene, more particularly of 
Titania^s contribution to it, fell upon ears attuned to 
the occasion. Whatever Hancock might say, the setting 
enhanced the effect, and in so doing stimulated the imag- 
ination of the performers. In knots those not engaged 
in the scene listened in silence and appreciation; and 
Bouverie, as Bannatyne admitted to himself, rose to the 
occasion very well. His was not a feverish Oberon; he 
was perhaps too deliberate a fairy king, but at least it 
was a dignified performance, and the delivery was im- 
pressive from those careful lips. 

“ ‘ That very time I saw, but thou couldst not. 

Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 

Cupid all arm’d . . ” 

198 


Titania^s Glade 


Bouverie lifted an arm and pointed, and in the glow 
of the moonlight the action had its dramatic value. Ban- 
natyne turned to look. Chloe followed the direction of 
the arm involuntarily; it was as if she expected to see 
“ Cupid all arm’d.” 

It fell upon a little western flower, 

Before milkwhite, now purple with love’s wound, 

And maidens call it, love-in-idleness. . . 

Love-in-idleness,” murmured Bannatyne, thrilling 
at the charm of the word, and was not aware that he 
was pressing Chloe’s arm. But she was quite conscious 
of it, and did not mind; indeed, unconsciously she drew 
a little closer to him. 

“ There comes my Helena'' he said, “ with that 
beastly Demetrius," 

“ But Hermia's yours, Mr. Bannatyne,” said his com- 
panion. 

So she is — of course ; I was mixing it up,” he de- 
clared. “This story’s very bewildering, isn’t it? I do 
wish you’d been Puck." 

They stood watching until Demetrius and Helena 
made their exit, and Oheron had given the cue. 

“ Puck — Puck — where’s Puck ? ” called out Hancock 
sharply. “ Come, Gay, where are you ? ” 

“ Coming,” said a high voice, and of a sudden a 
figure rolled in a sort of somersault into the arena. 

“ Good Lord, what on earth’s this ? ” asked Hancock. 

“ Hurt yourself ? ” inquired Bouverie anxiously. 

Gay rose to his feet, panting. “ It’s an idea of my 
own,” he explained complacently, “ for an entrance for 
199 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


Puck. You see, he’s been putting a girdle round the 
world, and it would be only natural that a romping spirit 
returning from a long journey ” 

“ Oh, fudge, man ! get out, and come in in a proper 
way,” said Hancock wrathfully. 

'' Really, my dear Mr. Hancock,” protested the 
aggrieved Puck, “ you must really allow an individ- 
ual interpretation in matters of this sort. My notion 
was ” 

You can tell us that afterwards,” interrupted 
Hancock shortly. “ Get along now.” 

With a very bad grace, and compressed lips. Gay 
went on with the part; but, as he confided to Banna- 
tyne later, “ for two pins I would have chucked the 
part. It’s infernal incivility on Hancock’s part. He 
presumes too much on his position. We’re not pro- 
fessionals, to be ordered about.” 

Presently it was time for LysandePs interlude with 
Hermia in the wood. It was the scene they had re- 
hearsed, or begun to rehearse, in the early afternoon, 
and both remembered it. Miss Grant-Summers’s face 
was too shadowy for him to see much in it, but he 
knew what expression it must bear. 

“ Did you find my boots ? ” she whispered. 

“ I’ve discovered they’re not fives,” he whispered 
back. 

“ Do you think we’d better lie down here ? ” she 
asked as they reached the end ; I don’t much like it.” 

“ There’s no need to,” he assured her ; but Lady 
Coombe insists on lying herself. I’ll lie for both of 


200 


Titania^s Glade 


ns” He did so. “Don’t turn a somersault into my 
eye, please,” he remarked as Gay approached. “ Thank 
you.” Miss Grant-Summers stood beside him while 
Puck soliloquized, and Demetrius and Helena made 
their appearance, and she talked in an undertone. 

“Did you go up to the downs this afternoon?” 

“No; was there an expedition?” 

“We looked for you.” 

“ Please give me another chance. Has Mr. Ather- 
ton recovered his breath and his head ? ” 

“ Head?” 

“Yes; he had lost both, when I passed him this 
afternoon. So had Captain Madgwick.” 

She laughed, and moved a little way as Helena, in 
accordance with stage directions, drew near and bent 
over him. 

Ly Sander ! on the ground ! 

Dead ? or asleep ? I see no blood, no wound . . 

“ You’d much better give up the pretense of caring 
for Demetrius,” he murmured to Miss Arden, who bit 
her lips to keep herself from smiling as she finished her 
sentence. 

“ You don’t care a bit for him,” he went on. 
“ There’s only one person for you, and he ” 

Helena had finished, and he himself broke off to take 
up his cue. 

“ ‘ Transparent Helena! Nature shows art. 

That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart . . 

“ I told you so,” he muttered. “ It’s preposterous. 

14 201 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


‘Where is Demetrius? Oh, how fit a word 
Is that vile name to perish on my sword! ’ ” 

He spoke with exceptional fervor, as he rose to his 
feet and reached his arms as if to seize Miss Arden. 

“ Wait a bit, Lysander — not too fast,” said Han- 
cock the adamantine. “ You don’t go near Helena till 
the next speech.” 

“ Really, Hancock, you must allow — ” began Ban- 
natyne with dignity, but was interrupted. 

“ Oh, shut up, and go on ! ” said Hancock. 

“ At any rate, I’m right here,” he said to Miss Arden 
presently under his breath. “ And I’m not going to 
abandon this ‘ individual interpretation.’ 

, And leads me to your eyes; where I o’erlook 
Love’s stories, written in love’s richest book.’ ” 

He thought he detected a significant raillery in 
Helena's opening lines: 

“ ‘ Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born ? ’ ” 

and he left the scene, explaining to her that she put too 
much emphasis into her words. As they were thus 
engaged, Ferris came up, displaying signs of being dis- 
concerted. 

“ Miss Arden, I think we might go through that 
next scene together, if you don’t mind,” he said. 

“ Oh, but I do mind ! ” she protested. “ I’m tired 
enough of it. Wait till it comes on. I don’t like re- 
hearsals within rehearsals,” she pronounced. 

Ferris stood twirling his mustache in annoyance. 

202 


Titania*s Glade 


‘‘ We mustn’t miss this,” said Bannatyne to the lady. 

This is the piece de resistance. ‘ Act III. Titania lying 
asleep.’ If you feel you must laugh, Miss Arden, appeal 
to me, and I’ll take remedies against it. As for me, if 
I’m going to explode I’ll transfer my thoughts else- 
where ; I’ll think of some romantic name like ‘ Mirabel.’ 
Stand close, as the master says.” 

Ignoring Ferris, they drew up to the ring, where 
Hancock was marshaling his forces. Lady Coombe lay 
a little to one side, under the bracken, and upon a silk 
cushion. Cooper had his part to a nicety of glibness, 
and there was realism in the way he said: 

“ *A calendar! a calendar! look in the almanac. 

Find out moonshine, find out moonshine.’ ” 

This was abrupt and ordinary, but the verse sailed 
away on high notes like the recitation of a child. 

Be I to wear an ass’s head to-night, sir ? ” he in- 
quired with suppressed excitement of Hancock. 

No, we’ll do without it to-night. Cooper ; we’ll have 
a dress rehearsal to-morrow — ^that will be time enough.” 

“ Very well, sir.” Bottom intoned again with a 
broad grin,' and put to flight Quince and his companions. 

Say the song. Cooper ; we haven’t the music yet,” 
said Hancock; and Cooper repeated it to a melancholy 
recitative of his own. 

Lady Coombe sat up with languishing gestures. 

“ * I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again . . 

“If your ladyship was to lay this way, like,” said 
203 


A Midsummer Day’s Dream 


Bottom with an ingratiating grin, ‘‘ you’d be more com- 
fortable. The ground’s very hard for your ladyship, I’ll 
reckon.” 

‘'It’s all right. Cooper; go on,” enjoined Titania 
crossly. 

“ Get along there, Bottom” called Hancock. “ What 
are you doing? ” 

“ I was only tidying her ladyship’s cushion so as she 
could lay proper,” said Bottom apologetically. “ This 
ground’s terrible hard, and a dew, too. That don’t do 
for the likes of she. It’s only young folks like as can 
stand layin’ out like this. It breeds rheumatics powerful.” 

“ Really, Mr. Hancock, this is absurd,” declared the 
furious T itaniay “ and I never ought to have consented 
to — ” Hancock jumped down from his perch and has- 
tened to soothe her wounded vanity. The conversation 
was carried on in low tones which did not reach the 
circle of the audience. But Hancock presently went 
back, apparently having succeeded, and the rehearsal 
was resumed. It was, however, obvious that Titania 
was ruffled, and her lines were spoken with a bad grace, 
as it were under protest. 

“ ‘ The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye,’ ” 

remarked Oberon as he passed Bannatyne on his way to 
the entrance. 

“ Is it going to rain ? ” he asked back, glancing up- 
ward at the silent luminary. “ I feel very guilty. 

‘And when she weeps, weeps every little flower 
Lamenting some enforced chastity.’ ” 

204 


Titania^s Glade 


“ You look like a conspirator,” observed Miss Arden. 

“ I am it,” he confessed ; and at that moment arose 
a triumphant and abominable sound on the air. 

“ What has happened ? ” said Miss Arden in alarm. 

“ It sounded like a nightmare,” said Bannatyne. 
“ But it may be beasts. I will protect you.” 

“ What in the name of goodness may that be. 
Cooper ? ” Hancock was demanding in a shout. 

“ Tis the ass, sir,” said Bottom, “ See, I be sup- 
posed to be wearing the ass’s head.” 

“ More individual interpretation,” said Bouverie to 
Bannatyne. 

Lady Coombe, from her position on her elbows 
among the bracken, shrugged her shoulders plaintively, 
despairingly. 

“ He was braying — good heavens ! ” said Hancock 
to the group about him. 

“ Be I not to bray, sir ? ” asked Bottom. “ It do say 
something about his roarin’ like a lion, and I thought 
that he would bray, too, sir.” 

“ ‘ Tie up my love’s tongue ; bring him silently,’ ” said 
Bannatyne to Miss Arden, who was shaking with laugh- 
ter. “ Let us not be a cause of offense to others. Lady 
Coombe will throw up the sponge if she suspects us of 
laughing. My face is quite straight; is yours? No, we 
[must withdraw. Come, Helena ; there’s only a silly busi- 
“ness between Demetrius and Hermia coming on. We 
don’t want to witness it.” 

“ I’m not so sure,” said Miss Arden. It might be 
interesting.” 


205 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 

‘‘ Our affair is much more interesting,” he said. 
‘‘ Do you know, I think Mr. Ferris can’t possibly play 
the part of Demetrius in an imperial. Can he, now ? ” 
I really hadn’t thought about it,” said she. 

“ But consider the anachronism ! An Athenian of 
Elizabethan times in an imperial ! It’s monstrous! No; 
he must be compelled to shave.” 

“ Oh, that’s nothing to do with us,” she said 
smilingly. 

“ On the contrary, it has — with you. I wish it 
hadn’t. Excuse me putting it bluntly, but you’re be- 
sotted on him. He’s not worth it; take it from me.” 

“ It is obvious that neither of you is,” said Miss 
Arden with her pleasant manner. 

‘ Oh, why should you think that I should woo in 
scorn ? ’ ” he demanded. 

‘‘ ‘ You do advance your cunning more and more,’ ” 
she responded. “ ‘ These vows are Hermia's, will you 
give her o’er ? ’ ” 

“ Most certainly,” replied Bannatyne seriously. ' I 
had no judgment when to her I swore’; and, moreover, 
I put her to the test, and she failed.” 

“Test!” said his companion wonderingly. 

“ Yes, she underwent the necessary ordeal. You 
know there were of old times several ordeals to which 
suspected people were exposed. If you were suspect as 
thief, for example, you were tried by fire, and, if in- 
nocent, emerged triumphantly — also scathless. If you 
were supposed to be a witch, you were rolled in the 
water, and if you drowned you were innocent, and if 
206 


Titania^s Glade 


you weren’t you were burned to death as guilty. It was 
a splendid institution. Better be safe than sorry, you 
know. You’re sure of your witch that way.” 

“ Mirabel ” laughed. ‘‘ But what ordeal did poor 
Hermia undergo ? ” she asked. 

“ Well,” he hesitated, “ she was suspected of being 
a sort of witch.” “ Mirabel ” opened her eyes. He 
nodded, “ Yes, it was a bad affair, and we don’t like to 
talk of it. But she came out of it all right; she wasn’t 
a witch, and so she was drowned — at least she ought 
to have been, only she was let off.” 

'' Lysander ! ” called Hancock in the distance. 

“ We’re on,” said Miss Arden ; “ we must go back.” 
She began to move quickly toward the central scene, 
and he followed, reflecting. 

“ I wonder if she would pass the ordeal,” he 
thought, and arrived in time to enter upon her skirts, 
with his plea for her love. Close by he could see 
Ferris’s eyes watching them, for Ferris was lying in 
the much-frequented bracken and the moon shone on 
him; and presently he burst out, jumping to his feet: 

‘ O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! ’ ” 

Steady,” enjoined Hancock. “ A bit too rushed. 
Try again. Now, Lysander \ ” 

Ferris was fervid, but nervous of manner; he aban- 
doned himself to the delirium of love-making. He sighed 
profoundly, heaving from his bosom deep breaths. In 
that immensity love tossed on stormy seas. But his 
passion did not appear to affect the spiritual Helena. 
207 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


“‘Oh, spite! Oh, hell!”’ 

she said delicately, and broke off. “ Oh, Mr. Hancock, 
I don’t think one ought quite to say that. Isn’t it a 
little ” 

“ Say ' Oh, blank ! ’ ” suggested Bouverie benevolently. 

“I don’t see any objection to it; but if you mind, 
try ‘ heaven,’ ” said Hancock. 

“Yes, that will do,” said Helena, trying it over in 
her mind. 

“ ‘ Oh, spite ! Oh, heaven 1 ’ ” said Miss Grant-Sum- 
mers in the outskirts to her neighbor, who happened to 
be Madgwick. “ Rather absurd, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Oh, well, ‘ hell,’ you know,” said the captain mildly. 
“ A girl doesn’t much like to commit herself to swear 
words, naturally.” 

“ No, of course not,” said Miss Grant-Summers 
sweetly. 

“ A girl at my daughter’s school,” observed Lady 
Merrington contemplatively, “ used to use dreadful 
words. They say she used to use words they’d never 
even heard of.” 

“ Really ! ” said Madgwick, interested. “ By Jove ! 
she must have been a terror.” 

Miss Grant- Summers tittered, but Lady Merrington 
proceeded oblivious of this unconscious reflection on 
pretty Chloe and Kathleen. 

“ Her father was governor of one of the prisons, so 
I suppose she caught it from the criminals,” she con- 
cluded. 


208 


Titania^s Glade 


'' It’s my cue,” said Miss Grant-Summers, and left. 
Lady Merrington resumed the story of her daughter’s 
school life, finding an abstracted audience in Madgwick, 
whose ears and eyes were only for the stage, whereon 
the famous scene between the two pairs of lovers was 
in progress. 

“ ‘ Why are you grown so rude? what change is this, sweet love,’ ” 
declaimed Miss Grant-Summers. 

“ ‘ Thy love! out tawny Tartar, out! 

Out, loathed medicine! O hated potion, hence! * ” 

thundered Bannatyne. There was versimilitude in the 
voice : 

“ ‘ ’Tis no jest 

That I do hate thee, and love Helena.’ ” 

Miss Grant-Summers warmed to her part. She 
threw open the silken wrap that hid her handsome 
shoulders, and struck herself on the bosom: 

Puppet! why so? Ay, that way goes the game. 

Now I perceive that she hath made compare 
Between our statures . . . 

How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak! 

How low am I? I am not yet so low. 

But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.’ ” 

Bannatyne remembered that she had spoken in depre- 
cation of the cattishness of this passage, but surely here 
was the vixen broken out, naked claw and teeth. She 
209 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


looked handsome as a fury, but she was not his dryad. 
His. exchanges with Helena had excited his blood, and 
the scene went with a swing that delighted Hancock, 
who only interfered to restrain the overimpetuous Fer- 
ris. The single interruption came from an accident 
to Gay, who, as Puck misleading the rivals, had the mis- 
fortune, in going backward, to tumble into a gorse bush, 
whence he was extricated by both Lysander and Deme- 
trius. 

Finally Lysander, in the person of Bannatyne, aweary 
with his vain pursuit, lay down and slept, and Demetrius, 
at a little distance, followed his example; and yet again 
Helena, reentering, slumbered also at a little distance; 
and once more Hermia followed suit. 

Lysander raised his head and surveyed the prostrate 
forms. He thought he saw Helena’s eyes directed 
toward him. 

“ Don’t lie there,” he whispered ; that doesn’t give 
me a fair chance.” 

Helena’s eyes shut, as if she had gone off again. 

“ We’ll take that last act now,” said Hancock’s busi- 
nesslike voice, and then go back to the fourth. Now, 
then, Mrs. Battye.” 

Bannatyne breathed a sigh of relief. He got up 
and walked toward Miss Arden; she was seated on the 
ground, adjusting her cloak. Ere he could reach her, 
however, Ferris had forestalled him, and was addressing 
her with tender solicitude. So, turning away, he joined 
Miss Chloe Merrington, who was engaged in conversa- 
tion with Walrond and another young man. 

210 


Titania^s Glade 


“ That was first rate, Mr. Bannatyne,” said Walrond. 
“ That went awfully well.” 

“ Capital ! ” said Chloe. 

“ Ripping ! ” murmured the other young man. 

“ You relieve my anxiety,” said Bannatyne. “ But 
it’s my private opinion that I shall get neither of them. 
I’m too greedy.” 

“Neither?” inquired Chloe. 

“ Yes, neither Hermia nor Helena. Puck's working 
against me. I’ve felt that ever since I got lost in the 
Wilderness last night. He’s the presiding genius here.” 

The other young man, who, it turned out, was 
Atherton, guffawed. 

“Old Gay,” he said — “wasn’t he ripping?” 

“ Now, if you’d only been Puck, Miss Chloe,” pur- 
sued Bannatyne, “ I could have been sure of you. You 
would have helped me.” 

She smiled at him appreciatively. “ Well, you would 
have had to give me a hint,” she said. 

“ Come, and I’ll give you one now,” he said coax- 
ingly. 

Chloe moved out of earshot of the others with him, 
and Walrond looked glumly after them. 

“ You haven’t got a ghost of a show, my boy,” said 
his friend Atherton consolingly. 

“ Miss Chloe, I’m tired of all this,” said Bannatyne. 
“ Let’s go and galumph.” 

She shook her head, laughing. “ I’m wanted here, 
and so are you.” 

“ I’m evidently not wanted anywhere,” he said 
21 1 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


gloomily, and, seeing a figure approaching, he raised his 
voice. “ Miss Latham, will you take pity on me, and 
galumph ? '' 

Kitty Latham came to a halt. I don^t understand,'' 
she said. 

'‘It's a way of running downhill Mr. Bannatyne has 
invented," explained Chloe. “ You do it on your toes," 
she said gayly. 

“ I don't think I could," said Miss Latham nervously. 

“ There, I told you so ! " said Bannatyne. “ Nobody 
wants me. Good gracious! that must be Cooper again. 
We're missing something. Let's go and see." 


212 


CHAPTER XIII 


ALLEGRA AND PENSEROSA 

It was with Kitty Latham that he walked back to 
the Hall when the rehearsal was over — a silent Kitty, 
a shy and trepidant Kitty. 

'' Do you know, Miss Latham,” he said, “ why a cat 
is like a rosebud ? ” 

No,” said Miss Latham. 

“ Because if you put them in water they both come 
out,” he explained solemnly. Miss Latham laughed 
slightly. “ I feel like a cat or a rosebud ; they’ve put 
me in water — hot water — and I want to come out.” 

“ You came out strongly,” said shy Kitty shyly. 

Oh, Kitty,” he smiled appreciatively, how like your 
mother! We used to practice at . . . she had just that 
deftness of wit, and you . . .” He did not finish, and 
was silent a moment, but her face was charged with 
flame at his tone, at his address, at her own sprightly 
venture. 

I’m no use in that galley,” he resumed presently. 

I’m really only some one trying to amuse myself, and 
that’s the hardest of all work. It is a beautiful world, 
isn’t it ? ” he asked, looking round and inhaling the 
wonderful night. 

“ ‘ The world is so full of such wonderful things, 

I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings* 

213 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


and queens, of course. No, I hate the tawdry glitter of 
courts, and I don’t want Hermias and Helenas and 
princes. And I want to ride to fairyland.” He took 
her arm spontaneously and unconsciously. “ See, child, 
see,” he said earnestly. “ There’s the ragwort meadow, 
dun, russet, and golden in the light of day, but now an 
occluded and mysterious silver. You know what the 
Irish say? The ragwort is the fairy horse that gallops 
you away to fairyland. Don’t ever have one near your 
doors, when you grow up and are married, or you’ll 
lose all your children, Kitty. They are galloped over 
the borders of Faery. I would I had the chance. I love 
all the fairies I have ever met.” 

Kitty’s heart jumped under her bodice, and she 
looked on the radiant night, with his hand on her arm. 
Then he resumed his way, and she beside him, till they 
entered the courtyard and the Hall beyond. She wore 
no gloves, and under the strong light he noticed her 
hand. 

“ What is this ? ” he asked, taking it. 

Kitty blushed. “ It’s nothing,” she said, '' only a 
little ” 

“ Poor child, you were stung, and I didn’t know,” 
he went on. “ Did you use a blue-bag, Kitty, and has 
all the pain gone ? ” He spoke earnestly, and with a 
certain soothing tenderness of manner which was his 
own. “ Does it hurt? ” 

Only a little,” she confessed shamefacedly. 

'' Blue-bag, ammonia, common soda, and onions — all 
are certain cures, Kitty, particularly onions. But I’m 
214 


Allegra and Penserosa 


sorry. Does it hurt ? Poor hand ! He raised it softly 
and examined it. “ Queen Eleanor sucked the poison 
from great Edward’s hand. I wish I could from yours ” ; 
and quite by an impulse, and unexpectedly to himself 
and the girl, he touched the fingers with his lips. 

The blood ran in Miss Latham’s face, and then went 
out, leaving her pale. There was the sound of feet a 
little way off, and Bannatyne glanced round. It was 
Miss Ashcroft who was advancing toward them, her 
mouth inscrutably set, her gray eyes alert and com- 
manding. 

‘‘I’m told singers and actors develop huge appe- 
tites,” she said, pausing beside them. “ I suppose you 
want your supper.” 

“We could eat a sheep,” Bannatyne assured her, 
but Miss Latham was too confused to find words. 

It was on her that the older lady directed her 
attention. 

“ Then, if there’s not enough for you, you can have 
mine,” she said briskly ; “ for I find I’m terribly over- 
fed in modern houses. It’s only a few hours since 
dinner. But we must go through the form of supper. 
We ought to be compelled to sup off a crust of bread 
for a week.” 

She spoke quite amiably, and with more of the air 
of supporting a conventional conversation than she had 
ever shown before. She was usually brusquer and more 
direct. 

“ We should all be better for love in a cottage,” said 
Bannatyne. 


215 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


Miss Ashcroft turned her head slightly away. “ An 
impossible ideal for some people/’ she said dryly. 

“Where there were no wasps, of course,” went on 
Bannatyne sweetly. 

Miss Ashcroft’s lips trembled, as if she suppressed 
some amusement. “ I’m going to pretend to eat, at any 
rate,” she said, marching off. 

Bannatyne sat next to Lady Fallowfield at supper, 
but, despite his statement to Miss Ashcroft, he did not 
show much appetite. He drank a little Moselle, played 
with a few dishes, and talked. Lady Fallowfield was so 
old a friend that he wondered why he fought shy of 
asking her about Eastwood, and it seemed quite remark- 
able that when they rose the peer’s name had not even 
been mentioned. The discussion in the smoking room, 
turning, as it did, on the rehearsal, bored him, and he 
went to bed at a comparatively early hour. In his cor- 
ridor he met Lady Cynthia, and stopped to talk to her. 
Oddly enough, the first words that slipped front him 
concerned Eastwood, though his name was unspoken. 

“Is it true that I am to congratulate you, Lady 
Cynthia ? ” 

His smiling face looked into hers, as if deprecating 
any rebuff. After all, he had only heard a rumor, and 
had no right to repeat it, much less to broach it to her. 
Lady Cynthia flushed. 

“ I don’t understand,” she said coolly. 

“ If you don’t, then am I a fool and a pig,” he 
returned quickly. “ Perhaps I listened to gossip. For- 
give me.” 


216 


Allegra and Penserosa 


“ Indeed, there’s nothing to forgive in congratula- 
tions,” said she rather dryly. 

“ I should prefer to frame it this way,” said he. 

Good fortune and good fame be yours.” There was 
something serious in his tone, though he still smiled. 
“ I remember the long-legged little girl who helped me 
to church. I wish her all happiness.” 

Thank you,” said Lady Cynthia quietly, but the 
flush had not faded. She had the effect of keeping 
herself well in hand by an effort. He could see her 
gentle bosom moving fast. 

“ Good night,” he said, and strode away. 

Lady Cynthia went to her room and turned up the 
light. Kitty ! ” she said in surprise. 

Miss Latham sat in the window seat, contemplating 
the firmament of stars. “ Cynthia,” she turned quickly, 
“ I wanted to say good night, dear. I missed you down- 
stairs. There is such a crowd.” 

Lady Cynthia sat down in an armchair. “ How do 
you think the play will do ? ” she asked. 

“ The play ! ” Her friend looked at her with a start, 
as if she had been thinking of something else. “ Oh, 
I think it will be really funny,” she said, smiling. “ Don’t 
you? That man Cooper is delightfully funny. Whose 
idea was it to get him ? ” 

“ I believe it was Mr. Bannatyne’s,” said Lady 
Cynthia, removing some tortoise-shell pins from her 
hair, which came tumbling down, a cataract of rolling 
brown tresses. There was a momentary silence, then 
Miss Latham broke it: 

15 


217 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 

“Were you talking out in the corridor?” 

“ Yes,” said Lady Cynthia. “ I met Mr. Bannatyne. 

“ What was he saying ? ” 

Lady Cynthia, who was now before the mirror, bent 
forward, and the curtain of her hair swung slowly over 
her face. “ Some of his usual silly talk,” she said indif- 
ferently. Again silence fell. 

“ Do you think it really is silly ? ” asked Miss Latham 
at last, and hesitatingly. 

“ Oh, well, my dear, surely you can judge for your- 
self,” said her companion. “ He is terribly flippant.” 

“ But he’s very gay,” pleaded Kitty. 

“ Oh, he’s gay,” admitted Lady Cynthia. 

“ I don’t think he really means the nonsense he 
talks,” said Miss Latham boldly. “ I’m sure he’s more 
— more serious than people think.” 

“My dear Kitty, how clever of you ! It certainly is 
to be hoped he doesn’t mean the nonsense he talks.” 

Kitty Latham rose. “ Good night, dear,” she said 
affectionately, and kissed her friend. “ Shall you wear 
that white frock to-morrow when Lord Eastwood 
comes ? ” 

Lady Cynthia let her silver-handled brush fall upon 
the table with unnecessary force. “ Oh, how absurd 
you are, Kitty ! ” she cried. “ I wish you wouldn’t 
interfere with my arrangements.” 

“ My dear Cynthia, I’m not,” pleaded Kitty, in dis- 
may at this outburst. 

“ No, but I’m tired of this attitude of everyone, and 
these whispers, and of Lord Eastwood this and Lord 
218 


Allegra and Penserosa 


Eastwood that,” said the girl passionately. Why can’t 
they leave me alone ? ” 

I — I thought you liked him, and that ” 

“ People shouldn’t think,” interrupted Lady Cynthia. 
'' I do like him. I have a great respect for him. He’s 
an extremely clever man, and a good man, and he’s 
got high ideals. He doesn’t waste his time on non- 
sense, and — and private theatricals, and such silly 
things.” 

Recognizing her friend’s unreasonable mood. Miss 
Latham was silent. Cynthia, she knew, was of an im- 
pulsive, hot temper, but she was not wont to break out 
like this. As she stood watching Lady Cynthia disrobe, 
the train of her thoughts was directed by one word in 
that outburst. Cynthia was evidently cooling down, as 
also was her custom. 

“Did you know that he knew my mother?” asked 
Kitty. 

“ He — Lord Eastwood ? ” inquired the other. 

“ No ; Mr. Bannatyne.” 

“ How on earth should I have known that ? ” said 
Lady Cynthia irritably. “I’m not his historian. When 
did he know her ? ” she asked, letting her interest get 
uppermost. 

“ Oh, it must have been when I was a little girl,” 
said Miss Latham. “ He told me she was very beautiful, 
and she was witty.” There was an increase of color on 
Miss Latham’s face. 

“ How very ancient he must be I ” said Lady Cynthia 
loftily. 


219 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


'‘Oh, no — began her friend eagerly, but was not 
suffered to go further. 

" Well, I’m tired, and I must go to bed, Kitty ; so, 
good night,” said the other. 

But after Kitty had taken an affectionate farewell, 
Lady Cynthia put on her dressing gown and sat on the 
window seat which Kitty had occupied. The wind blew 
softly up the park and fanned her face pleasantly. Her 
heart was beating more steadily, but somehow she did 
not feel in the humor for sleep. It was very agreeable 
to sit and watch the stars as they dwindled toward the 
western valleys and dawn. She could understand why 
Kitty had been fascinated, even in the darkness. Per- 
haps darkness would even be better. On the thought 
she got up and switched off the light, afterwards resum- 
ing her seat. Yes, it was better, decidedly. The stars 
shone with more effulgence on the horizon; the moon 
was more benignant and more mystic. Cynthia could 
almost see it race across the blue space that was scat- 
tered with the fleece of broken clouds. The high wind 
sailed through the high trees and made a roaring. The 
gigantic aspens shook like thunder by the stream. Night 
was in possession of the sky, and settling slowly down. 
The scud galloped over the moon. Soon it would be 
dawn. 

Lady Cynthia’s thoughts swung round, and fluttered 
about Lord Easfwood. 

A young girl’s heart is as a garden of flowers where 
none may smell and pluck. In her ripe innocence she 
knew nothing, imagined nothing, and forecast nothing. 

220 


Allegra and Penserosa 


Life flows on an even tide to young girls who have 
not forestalled life. But Lady Cynthia’s innocence was 
troubled; her heart of a sudden bred new fears and 
unwonted doubts. She would have questioned herself 
had she known how, but it all seemed a hopeless jumble 
of perplexities and sensations for which she could not 
account. Was it not better to leave things alone? to 
turn one’s face away from unknown corners? to go still 
upon the even tide without questions and without won- 
der? The young girl has a remarkable capacity for 
burying her head like the ostrich, and refusing to see 
what she is vaguely aware must be there. Lady Cynthia 
blinked at the mental prospect, while her physical vision 
took in the sweep of a light heaven above unblinkingly. 
At last she rose with a sigh and crossed to her bed. 

Next morning the sun rained heat from a bare sky 
quite early; it was full warm by nine o’clock, and most 
people breakfasted in the Hall at nine. By eight Lady 
Cynthia was astir in the garden, from which the heavy 
dews were already vanishing. Her dress was white, 
her face was blush-white, and her heart was singing. 
She could not have said why, for she had no definite 
thoughts in her head at all. She moved among the 
flowers, visibly content to be alive, with the same joy 
and unconsciousness of her life as the flowers themselves. 
The air from the hills was like wine in the blood. No 
thought of Lord Eastwood had crossed her mind since 
she had risen. She had forgotten all halting perplexities, 
and she dipped her nose in the roses and trilled a soft 
air musically. 


221 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


To her, thus happily engrossed, entered Oliver Lock, 
a ponderous volume of philosophy under one arm, and 
in his hand a stick with which he beat imaginary bars 
in the air. He whistled a stave and threw back his 
head, saw Lady Cynthia, and delivered a sweeping 
bow. 

“ How perfectly charming to find you out here ! ** 
he said. “ My song is ready for you. Could you give 
me an appointment this morning ? ” 

Lady Cynthia considered. “ At eleven,’’ she said. ‘‘ I 
could manage that.” 

He bowed. “ That would be delightful,” and he 
strolled by her side in silence. 

Lady Cynthia picked a flower here and there, and 
he watched her with obvious impatience. “ How does 
your song go ? ” she asked as she stooped. 

“ Oh, so-so,” he replied nonchalantly, and whistled 
as if it bored him. “ Will you have a cigarette ? ” he 
asked, taking out his case. 

“ I don’t smoke,” said Lady Cynthia, smiling. 

“Why? Do you object?” he asked. 

“ I’ve never tried, and don’t want to,” she replied. 

“ But that’s not reasonable,” he argued. “If you 
haven’t tried, how do you know you wouldn’t like it ? ” 

“ That would apply to everything — murder, theft, 
torture, and everything,” she said, eying her bunch. 

“Have you any influence with Miss Gladys?” he 
asked rather abruptly. 

“ Well, I don’t know ; I’d hardly like to say,” said 
she. “Why?” 


222 


Allegra and Penserosa 


“ Well, if you have, I wish you’d persuade her kindly 
not to put things in my bed.” 

'' In your bed ! ” 

Yes. I lay down among a bushel or so of thorns 
last night, and it’s just as if I was bitten all over. She’s 
perfectly desolating. Children are all desolating.” 

Lady Cynthia choked down her laughter. “ I’ll 
speak to her about it,” she said. “ But how do you 
know it was she ? ” 

Oh, because I found the little beast’s sash, or what- 
ever you call it.” He pulled it out of his pocket as he 
spoke and dangled it before her. 

‘‘ I’ll return it,” said Lady Cynthia, “ with a moral 
lesson, unless you would like to keep it as a memento.” 

He shrugged his shoulders, as if the suggestion were 
too inconsequent to require words, but a voice broke in 
at that moment : 

Here’s a pretty thing, and a very pretty thing, and 
what’s to be done with the owner of this pretty thing ? ” 

Lady Cynthia turned, the sash in her hand. 

'' That is just it,” she said, smiling. “ The owner 
has been guilty of dreadful offenses.” 

“ I know,” said Bannatyne, affecting to examine the 
sash with solemnity. Gladys.” 

She nodded. He looked at Oliver Lock. 

“ Prickles,” he said again. 

“ You are a perfect detective,” said Lady Cynthia. 

“ Bed,” he added. 

'' How on earth do you know ? ” asked Lock in 
perplexity. 


223 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


'' My dear sir,” said Bannatyne indifferently, you 
can’t possibly mistake the signs. It’s quite easy. No 
doubt you wondered how I came to a correct conclu- 
sion so quickly. The wonder should rather be that I 
did not come to it before — before seeing the sash, for 
example. You see, grown-ups, as a rule, don’t wear 
sashes. Ergo, this must be worn by a girl of tender 
years — in other words, what is vulgarly called a flapper. 
Miss Gladys is the only flapper here.” He spread out 
his fingers, as if that demonstration was over. “ Next, 
you are astonished about the prickles; but if you will 
examine the bottom of the sash you will observe some 
thorns adhering. If you will also glance in the look- 
ing-glass you will note several scratches on your neck, 
which, as you have not yet shaved, are not caused by 
the razor. The assumption, therefore, is that thorns 
belonging to Miss Gladys attacked you in the night. 
Voilar 

Lady Cynthia laughed merrily. Then, having 
so marvelously solved the problem and discovered the 
criminal, the question remains, What is to be done to 
the owner of this pretty thing ? ” 

“ Something lingering with boiling oil in it,” sug- 
gested Bannatyne. 

Would that do, Mr. Lock?” she asked. 

He elevated his eyebrows in his customary gesture, 
thereby indicating that the conversation was too frivo- 
lous for him. He indorsed this also by deliberately 
sauntering away. 

Bannatyne gazed after him. '' I do wish I was as 
224 


Allegra and Penserosa 


old as that young man,” he remarked; then I should 
be completely responsible.” 

Aren’t you now?” she asked lightly. 

He shook his head. “ You know I’m not, Lady 
Cynthia. I go to sleep in church, and I all but snore. 
If you had only realized it, there was the man marked 
out from that hot Sunday onward — marked, branded 
as with iron. To go to sleep in church is to be dead 
to all sense of duty.” 

“ I did once,” she confessed. 

“ I don’t know if once is sufficient,” he pondered. 
“ I hope so. I want you to belong to us.” 

'' Do you think I’m so very serious, Mr. Bannatyne? ” 
she asked. 

He considered her. Her face was alight with youth 
and gayety. No,” he said, shaking his head. “ I be- 
lieve you’re as bad as any of us, really. But you are 
a more skillful hypocrite. You’re an impostor, I can 
see, and I really ought to expose you. Are you Alle- 
gra, or Penserosa? I thought I had it just now, but 
that flash in your eyes is deceiving. You are plaus- 
ible, oh, so very plausible ! — specious, even ; but you 
are a humbug. I’ll swear. Yes, I believe you are 
Allegra.” 

“ Do you ? ” said Lady Cynthia in pretty merriment, 
and hid her face in her nosegay. 

His eyes went to it. “ Roses,” he said. “ There’s 
only one rose I really love. Gladys gave it to me yes- 
terday; and I have it still in my room.” 

“ What’s that ? ” she inquired. 

225 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


“ La Gloire Lyonnaise,” he replied, watching her. 

Lady Cynthia nodded. “ I know it. IVe got one 
here, I believe,” she said, fingering among her flowers. 
“No, I don’t seem to have. It is beautiful.” 

“ May I have one of these ? ” he asked. 

“ Failing your fancy, you may,” she said gayly, and 
picked him out a beautiful Caroline Kuster. 

He set it in his buttonhole, inhaled its fragrance, and 
remarked: “As it has to die, it may as well die here.” 
He noticed she held the flowers against her breast. 
“ No, it should die there, and die happily. What 
chances flowers have ! ” 

She had taken on a slight warmth of coloring, and her 
face was partly turned from him. Out of peace and con- 
tentment fluttered trouble. Lady Cynthia was vaguely 
perturbed. 

“ What shall we do with this ? ” he went on after 
a pause, pointing to Gladys’s sash. “ Do you think we 
could tie her up in it ? ” 

“ I must talk to her seriously,” said Lady Cynthia, 
who had recovered herself. “ She mustn’t worry that 
poor man. He’s really awfully clever.” 

“ I think I’ll keep it as a keepsake,” said Banna- 
tyne, “ a disturbing keepsake, to produce when Gladys 
is adult and serious. How she would be put to con- 
fusion by the memory! Out of the deeps of the past 
would I call up this nightmare.” 

“ Oh, girls are not so easily disturbed,” said she. 
“ Gladys would only laugh, and say, ' Did I ? Fancy ! 
How naughty of me I ’ ” 


226 


Allegra and Penserosa 


“ I believe you’re right,” he agreed. “ Then I will 
just keep it for old sake’s sake. There are some people 
who collect photographs of ladies, men who collect gar — 
well, other things, and some slippers. Why shouldn’t 
I collect sashes ? ” He paused. “ I once had another 
keepsake, but I lost it,” he said sadly. 

Another ? ” she asked politely. 

“ A shoe.” 

“ A shoe ! ” repeated Lady Cynthia. 

Yes, but it is a sore subject. I oughtn’t to have 
referred to it.” 

Lady Cynthia looked as if she would like to have 
asked him another question, but she did not. Instead, 
she glanced toward the entrance to the rosery, where 
a foot on the gravel path was audible. It was Miss 
Grant-Summers. 

“ Good morning,” she called, seeing Bannatyne across 
the bushes. He lifted his hat and returned the salutation, 
but when Miss Grant-Summers turned into their path- 
way she saw Lady Cynthia for the first time. 

What lovely flowers ! ” she said, dividing a glance 
between the girl and her roses. 

“ They are best plucked in the early morning,” said 
Lady Cynthia. 

“ Oh, that, of course, was why you’re up so early,” 
said Miss Grant- Summers, smiling. “ It’s quite intel- 
ligible, isn’t it, Mr. Bannatyne ? “ But it doesn’t explain 
your early rising,” she added provocatively. 

“ I don’t understand,” said he, but Lady Cynthia 
looked away. 


227 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream " 


“ I understand Lord Eastwood’s coming this morn- 
ing — isn’t he, Lady Cynthia ? ” 

At this the girl’s face flushed quickly, and some 
expression flitted over it so swiftly as to be unintel- 
ligible to her companions. She moved slightly. “ I 
believe so,” she said coldly, but her pulse was jumping. 
Why could not that happy morning feeling have con- 
tinued? Why was all her world suddenly disordered 
by this woman’s words? 

Miss Grant-Summers gazed at her with a satisfied 
smile, and then directed her attention to Bannatyne: 
“ But that doesn’t account for you,” she said archly. 

“ I ? ” said he easily. '' Oh, I’m easily accounted 
for. I got up to help Lady Cynthia.” 


228 


CHAPTER XIV 


HELENA 

Miss Latham was overtaken in the park by Gladys, 
and a fox-terrier puppy, whose idea of life consisted of 
alternate excursions and alarms. When Gladys came 
up he was hanging on to her skirts by his very needlelike 
teeth, and growling with the ferocity of a mature tiger. 
Also, he seemed to think that it would be possible to 
shake Gladys, in whose frock there were already rents. 

“ Good gracious, Gladys, you’ll be all in bits ! ” said 
Miss Latham in admonition ; but Gladys shook her 
head. 

“ It’s only an old dress, and he has to harden his 
teeth. Isn’t he a duck?” 

The puppy, deciding that, now Gladys had come to 
a pause, there was no more sport to be had of her, had 
turned his attention to Miss Latham, and was examin- 
ing her with a bright and liquid eye. She held out her 
hand coaxingly, and, his tail wagging half his body in 
deprecation, he advanced and allowed himself to be 
fondled. 

He is pretty,” said Miss Latham, and uttered a little 
scream as the needles met in her finger. 

“ Oh, he’s always doing that ! ” said Gladys, coolly 
plucking him away. “ He hasn’t got his proper teeth 
229 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


yet.” She held up her own hands, which were punctured 
with tiny* marks. “ I’m taking him to be taught ratting,” 
she explained. 

“ Ratting ! ” echoed Miss Latham in astonishment. 

“Yes; I know a man in the village who’s promised 
to break him in. Come on, Rip ! ” She whistled as she 
made off, and the pup stood halting between two opin- 
ions, looking first at his old friend and then at his new. 
Finally he decided in favor of neither, and began lollop- 
ing awkwardly in quite another direction. Here he 
suddenly stopped, abandoning perforce whatever mission 
had been in his head at the sight of a formidable 
stranger. This was Bannatyne, who made some encour- 
aging noises with his lips. The pup, dissatisfied with 
these, retired growling, and in an attempt to execute 
a particularly ferocious and contemptuous figure, rolled 
over into a hole and set up a yelp. Gladys darted for- 
ward and rescued him. 

“ Thank goodness,” said Bannatyne, sighing with re- 
lief, as he saluted Miss Latham, “ Gladys has come to my 
rescue ! Beauty and the Beast ! Gladys, I shall not feel 
safe if you don’t carry that panther. Which way are you 
going? Oh, to the village! Well, you needn’t go down 
the park, child. Come with us, by the glade, and you 
can go through the Wilderness. I haven’t seen you for 
about a week.” 

“ You’ve only been here two days,” said Gladys 
frankly. 

“ Two days ! Good heavens, it seems a lifetime ! IVe 
gone through so much happiness. When the lotus-eaters, 
230 


Helena 


Miss Latham, arrived at the place where it always seemed 
afternoon, what could they reck of time? It was made 
for slaves, not voluptuaries, like you and me — and 
Gladys.” 

Bannatyne had taken charge of the party as a mat- 
ter of course, which Kitty Latham had come to realize 
as one of his traits. He had asked Gladys to accom- 
pany herself and him, taking it for granted that her 
way was his. Kitty submitted, and she even took pleas- 
ure in the submission. She had been going down to 
inspect the bathing pool, for the morning was growing 
steadily hotter, but she drifted away now with no des- 
tination, diverted from her errand. 

“ Oh, Fm not a voluptuary,” she protested. 

“ What’s a volup — whatever it is ? ” inquired Gladys. 

“ A person who always takes the shortest cut to his 
own pleasures,” said Bannatyne, a self-willed sensualist 
— you, for example, Gladys. By the bye, where are we 
going, Gladys ? where are you taking us ? ” 

“ I’m not taking you anywhere,” said the girl. “ It’s 
you, Mr. Bannatyne.” 

“ So it is. I forgot. Well, let’s go this way, and we 
can get upon the heath and let the wind blow dreams 
into us. The wind that comes over the mountain stirs 
in me madness. Would you like to be mad, Gladys? 
How is Mr. Lock ? ” 

Gladys blushed a rose-red, but he did not wait for 
her answer; instead, he turned to Miss Latham: 

I don’t want to see this blessed Lord Eastwood — 
do you? Everyone seems to be waiting for him.” 

231 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


“ No, I don’t think so,” she responded, smiling ; “ not 
very much.” 

Peers are like pigs — ^they are bought in a poke,” 
he continued reflectively ; “ no one thinks of asking ques- 
tions about peers or pigs. This sack contains a genuine 
peer. How much? Then there is brisk bidding. No, 
I don’t like peers or pigs — particularly educated pigs and 
educated peers; so let’s get away.” 

They walked on for some moments in silence, and 
turned into a glade which was one of the bays of the 
Wilderness, and was deep in spreading bracken. A path 
of sward ran undulating through this toward a track 
that breached the wood above and ultimately communi- 
cated with the heath. 

“ Put down puppy, and see what becomes of him,” 
said Bannatyne; but Gladys indignantly refused. 

‘‘ He would be lost in the bracken, poor dear ! ” she 
said. 

I spy a fairy of the glade,” said he abruptly. 
“ Turn round three times, and guess who she is. Miss 
Kitty. Oh, Gladys, you’ve looked ! ” 

‘‘ It’s Miss Arden,” said Gladys, paying him no heed. 

And she’s — what is she doing ? ” he asked in wonder. 

Toward the head of the glade stood the remains of an 
ancient cottage which had been converted into a shed; 
and into this Miss Arden suddenly bolted with precipita- 
tion, and every sign of alarm. 

What’s up ? ” repeated Bannatyne, and then sud- 
denly began to hasten. “ It’s cows,” he called out. 

Come along, Gladys ; bring our protector with you.” 

232 


Helena 


He broke into a sharp run as he spoke, and Gladys 
went after him helter-skelter, her long black legs flash- 
ing under her skirt. Miss Latham also ran, but with less 
celerity. Bannatyne surmounted the bracken and came 
out upon the grass space above it where the shed stood. 
Two or three young bullocks were inquisitively moving 
about it, and one was standing in the open doorway. 

Bannatyne’s hand, as he passed, fell with a loud re- 
port on the flanks of the nearest, and all took to their 
heels. He arrived at the door a little out of breath. 

“ I claim the reward,’’ he said. “ I got here first. 
None of it belongs to Gladys, please. Alone I did it. 
By heaven! but ’twas a gallant struggle with yonder 
steer.” 

Miss Arden was somewhat pale, and her face lighted 
up on seeing and hearing him. 

“ I know I’m a coward/’ she confessed, '' but I really 
cannot stand them. They came up so close and looked 
so awful, and ” 

'' Gladys doesn’t want any of the reward,” said he 
blandly ; she resigns in my favor. I forget what I saw 
advertised. Half your father’s kingdom, I think, and — 
there was something else. Perhaps you remember. Of 
course,” he added, one can always turn up the papers.” 

Miss Arden had lost her pallor, but she gave vent to 
a little laugh, partly of amusement and partly of embar- 
rassment. She emerged from the shed. I don’t think 
I’ll try short cuts again. I was going to the heath.” 

That’s where we’re all going,” said he triumphantly. 

Miss Latham had arrived panting, and Gladys was 
16 233 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


flushed also. She set down the terrier-pup, who, after 
making three attempts to reach his tail, promptly discov- 
ered a horrid enemy in Miss Arden’s sunshade and flew 
at it. This was rescued from him, and, after receiving 
an admonishing slap, he consented to proceed quietly 
toward the wood — that is, with a puppy’s notion of 
quietness. 

I seem to be cut out for a hero,” said Bannatyne 
complacently. “ I saved you from a cow, and I saved 
Miss Latham from a bee. No, by the way, I didn’t. It 
stung you, didn’t it. Miss Kitty? Let me see.” 

He took her hand. '' Better — almost well. I’m glad 
to see^ Miss Arden, would you sooner look better than 
you are, or be better than you look ? ” 

I must think it over,” she said lightly. 

‘‘ Gladys, would you sooner look prettier than you 
are, or be prettier than you look ? ” he asked, turning to 
her confidentially. 

Gladys pondered. But I don’t see, Mr. Bannatyne, 
how you can look prettier than you are. They’re the 
same thing.” ' 

“ Oh, no, they’re not — are they. Miss Arden ? 
They’re quite different, aren’t they. Miss Latham? I’d 
far sooner look prettier than I am. Wouldn’t you, Miss 
Arden?” 

“ I’m sure I never thought of it,” she returned. 

Think of it now,” he begged. 

“ I’m afraid it’s all nonsense,” she rejoined. ‘‘ You 
might as well ask if you would sooner talk sillier than 
you are, or be sillier than you talk.” 

234 


Helena 


Let’s change the conversation, please,” said Banna- 
tyne hurriedly. “ Where’s my reward ? ” 

“ What would you like ? ” asked Miss Arden indul- 
gently. 

The absurd pup was making a tempest of Miss La- 
tham’s skirts and worrying a fierce enemy. She shook 
him off, and centered her shy eyes on Bannatyne. He 
stood in apparent absorption of thought, while Miss 
Arden gently quizzed him with her gaze. 

The puppy, repulsed by the enemy, pondered new 
fields of derring doe, and sheltered himself at Miss 
Arden’s feet. 

'' That requires deep thinking,” he said. I thought 
you would remember that advertisement. Oyez! Oyez! 
to all and sundry: If anyone shall rescue the princess 
from the cow — I mean dragon, of course — I prom- 
ise ” 

Miss Arden turned with a smile on her lips and went 
forward. Unhappily the puppy was under her feet, and, 
her skirts impeding, she took two steps, tripped, and 
to the music of a canine yell, fell forward. Bannatyne 
put out his arms instinctively and caught her, and she lay 
in them for the fraction of a second. 

“ So many thanks,” he said, lifting her to her feet. 
'' I am content. I have had the reward. That squares 
things.” 

She raised a flushed face to him. “ I don’t pretend 
to know what you mean,” she said, ^‘but I am much 
obliged to you. It was that wretched puppy.” 

She ignored Miss Latham’s presence, but it was pre- 

235 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


cisely her ignoring it that showed her conscious of it. 
She spoke quite shortly. 

“ Gladys, dear,” said Bannatyne, “ your faithful ca- 
nine friend is upsetting our tempers. I have now saved 
three people, only two of them’s one.” 

I’ll take him to the village,” said Gladys. '' Pur- 
land’s going to teach him ratting.” 

Bannatyne pulled out his watch hurriedly. '' My dear 
Gladys,” he said, “ the ratting season will be over at pre- 
cisely eleven o’clock. Fly ! ” 

Gladys demurely laughed and picked up her dog. As 
she went she cast sidewise glances at Miss Arden and 
one at Bannatyne. Gladys had her instincts, though she 
did not wholly understand. 

Miss Latham looked after her undecidedly as she 
went, but Bannatyne’s glance dwelt on her in his friendly 
manner, and she made no attempt to break away. She 
followed him and Miss Arden up the slope that gave ac- 
cess to the glade beyond — Titanids Glade. Miss Arden 
went in silence, but Bannatyne judged it to be a not unsat- 
isfied silence. She was civilly sweet to Miss Latham, 
but aloof. With the skirts of her dress in hand as they 
went through the patch of wood, she turned to speak 
to the younger woman, and her voice was equable, as cool 
as chastity. You would never have guessed that she 
had felt the other in the way and had been embar- 
rassed. She did not communicate that fact to Ban- 
natyne by any tokens. After all, if he had settled to 
ignore Kitty Latham’s presence, she might be content to 
do so; there was a certain piquancy in the situation 
236 


Helena 


which she had not made, but now began to appreciate. 
She was out of hand just sufficiently to yield to a 
stronger nature, that is, to the male of her kind. 
Mirabel Arden prided herself on her sexual indiffer- 
ence, but unconsciously she leaned now upon the man. 
She had the attitude to him, not of Hermia the bold, 
magnificently challenging with all the investiture of her 
sex, but of the helpmeet and consort, already under 
authority and content to be so. She felt the conces- 
sion to a man’s mastery quite pleasant; she was hardly 
conscious of her beauty. But as she looked at Kitty 
Latham, it came back to her with a thrill. She was 
better-looking than this pretty girl, who had nothing 
but prettiness. Miss Arden felt that there was more 
grace in the way she would stoop to pluck flowers, 
in the very way she swept about now, skirt in hand, 
than in Kitty Latham. There was distinction as she 
conceived it, and her glances in the interval flowed 
down her figure to the ground with quiet satisfac- 
tion. 

Miss Arden,” suddenly said Bannatyne, who had 
been brooding, '' do you like pigs ? ” 

“ Pigs ! ” she echoed. Pigs ! Do you mean 
bacon ? ” 

“ Oh, pigs, pigs for pets,” he explained. “ Miss 
Latham and I don’t ; that’s why we’ve come away. 

^ There was a lady loved a swine; 

“ Honey,” said she, 

“ni give thee a silver trough.” 

“ Humph! ” said he.’ 

237 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 

At least I think it was a pig; but it may have been a 
peer. I always do mix those two up, as the little girl 
said of the Suez and Regent’s canals.” 

“ Don’t you like Lord Eastwood ? ” asked she, taking 
his point. 

“I don’t know him well enough to dislike him,” he 
replied ; but I disapprove of him. I’m tired of peers. 
I’ll advise Hancock to make him understudy to Bottom” 
he declared viciously ; “ that will pay him out.” 

“ Pay him out ? ” said Miss Arden interrogatively. 

Yes. You see, he arrives to-day, and bang goes all 
our dream of happiness.” 

“ But I don’t understand, Mr. Bannatyne,” said Miss 
Arden. “ What has Lord Eastwood to do with your 
dream of happiness ? ” 

“That’s it — just nothing,” he replied moodily. 
“What’s he got to do with it? You put it admirably. 
Let him keep his fingers out of it.” 

“You are most enigmatic,” she laughed. 

“ Well, a peer is a peer,” he said, “ or a pig. At 
any rate, the apparition of a peer is destructive of day- 
dreams; a peer appears and dissolves idle fancies. A 
peer is the only material and substantial thing in ex- 
istence, except a banker. All peers ought to be bankers. 
Most bankers are, I fancy, peers. The fabric of the 
State would be secured by the trinity of peers, bankers, 
and brewers. In the presence of peers mere folk like 
myself walk, pale, ineffectual shadows. You can hardly 
hear our footfalls; we are permitted to exist only. We 
don’t leave footprints on the sands of time, but a peer 
238 


Helena 


does ; his is a number nine square-toed shoe.” He 
glanced at Miss Arden’s foot as she walked. ” A peer 
picks up all eyes^ and we common fellows just cease. 
If you run up against a peer you hurt your elbow. It’s 
no use kicking against the pricks.” 

You bring an alarming charge of snobbery,” criti- 
cised Miss Arden. 

“ Do you know some beast who said woman was 
seldom a prig, sometimes a cad, and always a snob ? ” 

” I don’t know him, but I’m sure he was a beast,” 
said Miss Arden. “ He’s also incidentally an impostor.” 

“ Yes, I suppose he is,” said Bannatyne absently, as 
he looked about him. ‘‘ Here we are at the Royal Sylvan 
Theater, stalls one pound — no pit, by request. Spectators 
are cautioned not to touch the fairies, who are delicate 
and may break. Beauty to suit all tastes, from dark to 
fair, from grave to gay. Let us have a rehearsal all 
to ourselves. What do you say. Miss Latham ? ” 

I thought we were going to the heath,” said Miss 
Arden dryly. 

So we are,” he assured her. “ I know a beautiful 
brief way there. Now we shan’t be long. Do let us 
rehearse, and — ” He broke off, his eyes fixed on the 
middle distance where the glade rolled out into the park. 
“ Good heavens, there’s Demetrius ! ” he exclaimed. 
“Let us bolt!” 

He made as if to hurry away, but Miss Arden did 
not move. “ If Mr. Ferris comes, we might be able to 
rehearse better,” she said coolly. 

“ I’m not going to wait for him. He spoils my fun 

239 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


always,” said Bannatyne, looking at her reproachfully. 
'' I do wish you’d give me a turn. Come, let’s bolt.” 

Miss Arden laughed, and indulged his humor. The 
three began to go quickly across the glade among the 
bracken. 

It’s really too bad,” protested Miss Arden. I feel 
quite mean. Let’s go back.” 

“ No, no,” he pleaded, not yet. I’ve got something 
to show you ! ” 

I’m afraid he’s seen us,” said Miss Latham. 

“ Well, we haven’t seen him,” said Bannatyne. 

We’re in a great hurry to get to the heath to 
see the sunrise. May I give you a hand up. Miss 
Arden?” 

They slipped into the fringe of the Wilderness as 
he spoke, and the form of Ferris was shut out from view 
by the occluding trees. They scrambled upon a path 
and came to a stop. They were all rather breath- 
less, and looked at each other like conspirators. 

I feel dreadfully guilty,” said Miss Arden. 

“ Oh, it’s quite right,” he told her. “ It’s all for 
the best. If we met, there’d be an awful scene — per- 
haps bloodshed. You know Puck has to keep us apart. 
When I think of Ferris my blood positively boils. I wish 
I — I have a good mind to go down now and have it out.” 

Miss Arden entered into the spirit of his mock- 
heroics. She put a detaining hand on his arm. 

'' Please don’t,” she pleaded. 

'' Well, for your sake I won’t,” he returned. ** Let us 
make haste, or he’ll overtake us.” 

240 


Helena 


They proceeded along one of the characteristic paths 
of the Wilderness, and presently came to a turning. 

“ I earnestly hope you and Miss Arden know your 
way about this awful place,” said Bannatyne. 

'' I haven’t the least idea,” said Miss Arden. 

I don’t think I know very well,” said Miss Latham, 
^‘but I think we go this way.” 

“ O blind leader of the blind, we’ll all roll into the 
ditch presently,” he prophesied, and stopped to gaze 
about him, as if something familiar had dawned on him. 
“ Yes,” he said, answering his own unspoken query, “ it 
is. The waterfall is here. It must be a little to the left, 
farther on. Have you seen the waterfall. Miss Arden ? ” 

Waterfall ! I don’t think I have,” she returned 
doubtfully. 

Oh, it isn’t Niagara,” he said. “ It isn’t really a 
waterfall at all, in fact, only we like to call it so. It 
is a little trickle of water that comes over two rocks 
from a spring above, and flows bubbling for the Welling- 
bourne. You know it. Miss Latham?” 

“ Yes, I’ve seen it,” said Kitty. 

Well, if it’s one of the sights, let’s go there,” said 
Miss Arden gayly. 

Bannatyne led the way, and they dipped into the 
tangled growth, the two girls walking carefully to avoid 
the brambles, and the various creepers that swarmed on 
the ground. Soon the noise of water could be heard, 
and there emerged presently from the gloom of the 
wood a face of rock with a spouting stream dashing 
down the sides. 


241 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


“ There ! ” said Bannatyne, with the air of a show- 
man. The two girls halted by his side. 

“ What a pretty little cascade ! ” remarked the older. 

Isn’t it sweet ? ” said the younger. 

Bannatyne eyed them askance. He had not re- 
visited the scene of his nocturnal adventure till now, 
but it came back on him with sudden force. It gained 
fresh zest, with the two girls contemplating the water 
with untroubled eyes. 

“ If you like,” said he, “ you can climb a little way 
up there, and get to the level of the pool from which 
the water descends.” 

Miss Arden began to move in the direction sug- 
gested, and Miss Latham followed. Bannatyne parted 
the bushes for them. 

“ How delightful ! ” exclaimed the one. 

'' Isn’t it ? ” echoed the other. 

It would even be possible,” pursued Bannatyne 
thoughtfully, “ if one were very hot, on a day like this, 
to take off one’s boots and socks, or shoes and stock- 
ings, as the case might be, and, seated by this grassy 
pool, to dabble one’s feet in the cool cascade.” 

There was a momentary silence; then Miss Arden 
said: ** You’re not inviting us to do anything of the 
sort, I hope ? ” 

“ No,” he said, “ I was merely considering possi- 
bilities. Don’t you think it would be nice. Miss 
Latham ? ” 

“ Charming ! ” said the girl, advancing to the verge 
of the rock and looking down. She seemed interested, 
242 


Helena 


and a little hurried in her manner. Miss Arden was 
cool and composed. But women were all hypocrites, 
he reflected ; they were never to be judged by the faces 
they presented. Miss Arden turned on him a face like 
an angel’s for purity of coloring and repose. He had 
a sudden disposition toward annoyance, and began to 
talk rapidly: 

“ Do you know, I don’t care for bathing with things 
on. If you can’t bathe in ‘the altogether,’ what’s the 
use of bathing? The only people who know how to 
bathe are the Thames mud larks and the South Sea 
Islanders. Wouldn’t you like to ride the surf on a 
South Sea coast. Miss Arden?” 

“ Not very much,” said Miss Arden. 

“ I mean, of course, without the absurdities of fash- 
ionable bathing dress,” he said; “just as one dabbled 
pink legs in the sea in childhood’s happy hours.” 

Miss Arden had a little color in her face, but Miss 
Latham was unchanged. She gazed at him with in- 
terest, as if she pondered this idea. She was as near to 
innocence as a grown woman might be. 

“ It might be very amusing,” admitted Miss Arden ; 
“ but are we ever going to get to this heath ? ” 

She made a movement downward, and he assisted her. 
If either of the two had been there before, they both 
concealed it admirably. But was Kitty Latham in her 
shyness guilty? or was it Mirabel Arden in her com- 
posure? That very composure might argue against the 
latter. Bannatyne had thought to find some trace of 
embarrassment in one of them which might betray her; 

243 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


and now he conceived he had found it in Kitty La- 
tham, he was inclined irrationally to decide in favor of 
Miss Arden. He recalled his old conclusion: all women 
are impostors. There was not a fleck or flaw that 
crossed Mirabel Arden’s delicate beauty; yet she was 
as much a humbug as Miss Grant-Summers. He de- 
spaired. 

But he had no time to indulge his despair, for when 
they reached the path Ferris joined them — Ferris, 
flushed and darkling of brow. 

“ I’ve been trying to get Miss Arden to sit under 
the waterfall,” explained Bannatyne to him amiably. 

Ferris ignored him, and addressed Miss Arden. I 
thought it was arranged we should go through that 
scene this morning,” he said in a note of reproachful 
respect. “ I waited till eleven.” 

“ I haven’t any recollection of it,” said she sweetly, 
unperturbed. “ You must have confused me with some 
one else.” 

“How could I?” 

There was fervor in his voice, intended for her ear 
and heart. 

“ Do you know, Ferris, if I were you I should shave 
my imperial,” said Bannatyne, who had been eying 
him. 

Ferris turned more emphatically to Miss Arden, thus 
presenting a back view to the others. 

Bannatyne walked round to the front, and examined 
him anxiously. 

“ It won’t do, you know,” said he, shaking his head. 

244 


Helena 


'' Vm sure Demetrius never wore an imperial. What do 
you think, Miss Arden ?’" 

I ? I have no opinion,” she answered lightly. ** Tm 
not an authority on costume.” 

Hancock and I were talking it over this morn- 
ing, and we both concluded you ought to shave,” said 
Bannatyne mercilessly. 

My dear sir,” said Ferris testily, “ don’t be absurd, 
if you can help it. — I’m sorry if the mistake was mine. 
Miss Arden,” he added loftily, “ but I thought it was 
distinctly understood.” 

“ Of course, you could paint it out,” mused Banna- 
tyne. “ Cover it up with a layer of grease.” 

Miss Latham began to titter appreciatively. Ferris 
turned red, and frowned, but as he was standing away 
from his tormentor the frown was discharged at Miss 
Arden. She was untouched by any feeling, even that 
of humor. 

'' I assure you there was no arrangement whatever,” 
she said firmly. “ I don’t forget my appointments. And 
really, I think we get enough of rehearsal as it is.” 

Ferris made a movement impatiently, awkwardly, as 
if he would leave, but stood, his lip working. 

'' Try gin, Ferris,” said Bannatyne soothingly. 
“ Nothing like gin for disappointment. Try ' our best 
unsweetened,’ and you will bury your mother-in-law with 
equanimity.” 

Ferris still made no reply, but, conquering himself 
by an effort, turned and addressed Miss Latham with 
an elaborate pretense of interest in the wood. 

245 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


“ There are some defeats that are more glorious than 
victory,” murmured Bannatyne to Miss Arden. “ Ferris 
has my respect.” 

“ He is very rude,” she said coldly ; “ and persistent,” 
she added deliberately. 

They walked on, Ferris and Kitty Latham in front, 
and emerged on the heath a little later. Bannatyne 
chatted idly, and Miss Arden was serenely lovely. She 
dispersed charm as does the moon, a cool, soft charm 
that illumined her neighborhood. But did the blood 
of mere woman animate her body ? He caught her smile. 
She was Diana. Oh, no ; never was this his Dryad, never 
this creature of cold, passionless clay. He turned aside 
from the thought, and his eyes rested on Kitty Latham 
in the distance. Either might have done it, and neither 
might have done it. Probably, he thought desperately, 
it was Kathleen Merrington. It might as well be she 
as any other, Kathleen the correct and precise. It did 
not matter who it was. Really he told himself he had 
given up caring who it might be. But it certainly was 
not Helena. 


CHAPTER XV 


LORD EASTWOOD 

Lord Eastwood was at lunch, and occupied much of 
his host’s attention. He was invited to offer his opin- 
ion as to the date of the dissolution, and smilingly de- 
clined. 

“We don’t feel troubled ; that’s all I can say,” said 
he. “ Let the other fellows do the walking.” 

“ I think I may safely say we have been doing that 
for some time,” remarked Peter Bouverie, who was on 
the opposite side in politics. “ We also do the talking.” 

“ Fve not heard you once this session, Bouverie,” 
said the undersecretary in what Bannatyne felt was a 
patronizing manner. But Bouverie was imperturbable. 

“ That’s because I haven’t spoken,” he explained. 
“ And I haven’t heard you, but that’s not because you 
haven’t spoken. It’s because I have always been out 
of the House.” 

“ I’m sorry I drive you forth,” said Eastwood, 
laughing. 

“ You don’t. You don’t do anything to me. I simply 
don’t acknowledge your existence. I believe you’re a 
sort of Minister, aren’t you? I’ve heard people say so 
in the House. And where do you live? In the Clock 
Tower? I’m quite pleased to have this opportunity of 
247 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


meeting you, Eastwood, but you mustn’t let your natural 
excitement at the pleasure interfere with your lunch,” 

He waved his hand toward the undersecretary’s 
plate, and that important person, with a recognizing 
laugh, fell to; he also engaged in a serious political 
conversation with Sir Edward Coombe. 

“ I dislike a man who carries shop into the dining 
room,” observed Bannatyne to Miss Ashcroft. ‘'No one 
should talk shop save in the shop.” 

“ That would seem to seal the lips of politicians out- 
side Parliament,” she replied thoughtfully. 

“ An excellent idea,” he said furtively. 

Miss Ashcroft considered him. “ What do you do ? ” 
she asked bluntly. 

“I’m a matrimonial agent, and hence the only thing 
I may not speak of is marriage,” he said gravely. 

Miss Ashcroft’s face did not change. She appeared 
to turn this remark over, as she appeared to turn over 
so many remarks. 

“ Does that condemn you to celibacy ? ” she asked. 
“ I suppose you can get married in office hours.” 

“ There are no office hours,” he said gloomily. 

“ Then that settles it,” she replied. 

“ It settles me,” he remarked with his faint smile. 
“ Of course, I shall die as I have lived — a bachelor.” 

“ Have you sown your wild oats ? ” she asked him. 

“ Oh, dear, yes, long ago,” he told her. “ Quite a 
long time ago.” 

“ How many ? ” 

“ Bushels.” 


248 


Lord Eastwood 


“And what reaped you therefrom?” asked Miss 
Ashcroft. 

He paused. “ I don’t think I’ve reaped, so far. The 
harvest is not yet. But it probably won’t be oats; it will 
be tares or trets.” 

“ You should insure,” she advised. 

“ Insure ? ” He looked at her. 

“ Yes ; marriage,” she nodded at him. 

“ I’ve told you I can’t discuss the subject,” he said 
hastily. 

“ No; but I can.” 

“ Do, if you will. I like to hear you. Your voice 
is soothing, if your sentiments are upsetting.” 

“ Look at Lord Eastwood now. He’s handsome 
enough.” 

“ I know what he’s doing. He’s explaining to Sir 
Edward how he had to speak three hours on the Army 
Bill. I’ve heard him explain it before. I’m glad I didn’t 
hear his speech. He always looks handsomer when he 
explains it; he’s living at his highest and fullest then.” 

“You don’t like him?” inquired Miss Ashcroft. 

“I don’t like the way he parts his hair,” he said, 
frowning. 

Miss Ashcroft stared at him a moment, and then 
addressed her other neighbor. Bannatyne turned to his, 
who was Kathleen Merrington, and engaged her in a 
lively talk. In point of fact he was not feeling very 
lively, but the habit of a life is easily assumed. 

After lunch he joined a group on the terrace who 
were discussing midges. 

17 


249 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


“ I believe bathing the body carefully and thoroughly 
in paraffin is a sure preventive,” said Bouverie. 

Lady Coombe uttered a little scream. Good gra- 
cious ! Horrible idea ! ” she declared. 

“ Camphor bags round the bottom of your trousers 
is a pretty safe thing,” said Captain Madgwick. 

“ Oh, but we haven’t all got — ” began Lady Herring- 
ton, and her daughter twitched at her arm. “ What is 
it, my dear ? ” 

Miss Kathleen was rosy red. Bannatyne turned 
his head away quickly, and encountered Mrs. Everard 
Battye with a suppressed smile. 

“ Have you ever tried — ” he began, but she inter- 
posed hastily. 

Oh, I never try any specifics. I grin and bear it,” 
she said. 

“You, Lady Cynthia?” he asked; but Lady Cynthia 
had moved off with gentle decision. He looked after 
her. He thought she had deliberately avoided him, and 
then he noticed Sir Edward issuing from the door with 
Lord Eastwood. Was that the explanation? He saw 
them meet, and the three exchanged conversation. Sir 
Edward ponderous and genial, Eastwood gallant and 
ceremonious. He turned his back on the sight, and 
walked away. 

“ Mr. Bannatyne ! ” called a voice, and he halted. It 
was Lady Fallowfield. She approached resolutely, with 
her clear eyes so like Cynthia’s, but harder. “You 
haven’t spoken to me since yesterday,” she said gayly. 

“ One waits for queens to speak,” he said. 

250 


Lord Eastwood 


That’s very nice of you. You’re always very nice; 
also you’re a humbug. You never deceive me, but I 
dare say you do most of these girls.” 

She swept a glance about the terraces. 

” You find me singularly alone,” he replied. “ I am 
more or less ostracized.” 

Only bored, my friend,” said the lady. I know 
you, you see. You have a blue mood. Well, I can put 
up with it, for I’m particularly cheerful to-day.” 

No wonder,” he replied, with a vague wave of his 
hand toward the people. 

“ You think you know? ” she asked frankly. 

“ I have heard rumors. I have a guess,” he said. 

“ You mean — ” Their eyes met. She walked on with 
him. 

You are so old a friend that I won’t keep it from 
you. Yes, there are rumors. Of course, nothing is 
definite. But you can see how it is.” Her glance lin- 
gered on her daughter in the distance, who was talking 
to Lord Eastwood. Sir Edward had left them. 

Will my congratulations be premature?” he asked 
civilly. 

‘‘ Half on account, I think,” she said with a smile, 
and added, “ He’s certain of cabinet rank in time.” 

To judge from what I know of him and of cabi- 
nets, absolutely certain,” he said. 

"‘You don’t know him well?” she queried. 

“ I judge him by his performances. That three 
hours’ speech, now ! ” 

Yes,” said Lady Fallowfield delightedly. “ That 

251 


A Midsummer Day’s Dream 


helped him a lot ; but he’s going farther, and he’s young 
— not quite forty.” 

''Dear me, that makes me feel juvenile!” said Ban- 
natyne ; " and you too, Lady Fallowfield.” 

" Nonsense ! ” said she cheerfully. " Look at Cyn- 
thia.” 

" Lady Cynthia must be — ” He hesitated. 

" Twenty-two,” said her mother. 

" Old enough to be grown up, I suppose,” he re- 
marked. 

" Girls,” said Lady Fallowfield sententiously, " are 
more grown up than boys.” 

" Are they ? ” he questioned. " They qualify, so to 
speak, but do they know it? Do they realize it? Is a 
girl of twenty or a boy of twenty the better judge of 
destiny ? ” 

" The girl,” said the countess promptly. 

" I doubt it,” said he, shaking his head. " Girls don’t 
know anything about machinery.” 

" What’s machinery got to do with it ? ” inquired his 
companion bluntly. 

"Well, we’re very complicated machinery, aren’t we? 
We’re engines of a sort. I’ll lay stakes on maiden ig- 
norance.” j 

"We mustn’t talk about such things,” said the 
countess. 

" Why exclude what is most interesting ? Most things 
in life hinge on what you forbid. I always took you for 
a courageous woman,” he told her. 

" I am,” she answered. " I don’t mind. You can go 
252 


Lord Eastwood 


on talking, if it amuses you; but, frankly, it bores me. 
I got over my interest in it a good many years ago. It 
belongs to youth.’" 

“ On the contrary, it belongs to middle age, for I 
have it.” 

She laughed. “ Oh, you won’t have to face it. It 
will be faced for you when the time comes. Men have 
an excellent time. They’ve no problems — merely sen- 
sations.” 

“ You’ve no problems,” he said, looking at her. 

“ Haven’t I ? ” she laughed shortly. “ Hadn’t I, I 
mean? Thank goodness, they’re solved, or ” 

“ Or ? ” he said encouragingly. 

“ Or given up in despair. There are no solutions to 
some.” 

He was looking at her thoughtfully. “ Would you 
have everyone give up in despair ? ” he asked at last. 

Every healthy woman does,” she retorted. One 
can’t go through life being morbid.” Her direct eyes 
were on him as if she defied him and his logic. 

He nodded. “ That way lies madness, you think. 
But does it? You’ve never explored. Lady Fallowfield. 
You’ve turned aside. What’s it like that way ? Wouldn’t 
you like to know?” 

'' Not in the remotest,” she said, a faint color in 
her clear face. 

“ I wonder.” He paused. “ I don’t believe women 
ever learn about machinery,” he added. 

“ It’s far too late,” said she in her old decisive voice. 

There’s life to live, and the world to be met, and 

253 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


daughters to be married, and the whole round to go 
through.’’ 

It’s a silly round,” he said. 

“ Where’s the alternative ? ” she asked. 

Didn’t you turn your back on it ? ” 

“ How do you know ? ” she said sharply. Who 
told you ? ” 

“You,” he answered softly. She shook her head. 
“Your face.” 

“ Does that tell tales now ? ” she asked bitterly, and 
she was staring across the flowers at the park with eyes 
that did not seem to take in the scene. “I am a prac- 
tical and a sensible woman,” she resumed. “ I know 
the plain value of facts and the measure of emotions. 
So when I do my sums I get my accounts square.” 

“ And you’re doing Cynthia’s ? ” he suggested. 

Her gaze came back to him sharply. “ Yes,” she 
said abruptly. “ It will save her trouble. Mine were 
done for me.” 

“ And the ledger is satisfactory ? ” he asked gently. 

“Can’t you see?” said Lady Fallowfield decidedly. 
“ I can’t very well sound my own trumpet, but I sup- 
pose you have eyes.” 

“ I know I am walking with a very charming and 
perverse woman,” he said, “ but I can see nothing more.” 

“ You are, I fancy sometimes, Mr. Bannatyne, a 
blind sentimentalist.” 

“ Oh, I’m always on the side of the angels,” he 
admitted, “but I am backed by logic.” 

“ I know nothing about logic. Common sense is 

254 


Lord Eastwood 


good enough for me,” she retorted. She turned as if 
to go. 

"‘Well,” he said quite gravely, “I hope the accounts 
will come out all right; but I don’t think you’re a good 
accountant. No woman is good at figures.” 

She laughed easily. “ I thought I had preserved 
mine pretty well,” she said. Don’t turn yourself 
into a melancholy Jacques. No argument’s worth it. 
Good-by.” 

She nodded pleasantly, and swept with her fine car- 
riage across the lawn, the very picture of a grande dame. 
But Bannatyne stood watching her, and his face was 
still serious. They had fenced about a great question, 
and he was more than half convinced that Lady Fal- 
lowfield knew she was wrong; but that decisive mind 
would never admit it. She would issue her orders like 
a general in the field, and die in the results of the 
blunder. He went about, and paced along the garden, 
sunk in meditation. 

Unconsciously he was walking toward the rosery, 
and in the distance, turning a corner in the pathway, 
he discovered Lord Eastwood and Lady Cynthia. The 
hot sun streamed upon the garden, and her white form 
flashed in the eye of it. Lord Eastwood’s head was 
bent a little, as if in earnest talk. He could see them 
quite plainly as they emerged upon an open piece of 
sward. Lady Cynthia’s large hat tilted slightly, and 
part of her face showing under it, as she listened in 
grave attention. 

Bannatyne increased his pace, and some bushes shut 

255 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


^ them from his view. He took a short cut across the 
grass toward the rosery. Near the entrance, to his 
surprise, he came upon Lady Cynthia alone. He had 
not expected to find her going that way, and he had 
expected to find her with Eastwood. He commented 
on the weather with none of his customary sprightliness, 
and she agreed in a perfunctory manner. 

“ It is likely to hold for to-morrow’s performance,” 
he remarked, and, looking up in the sky, she said it was. 

'' I wonder how the dress rehearsal will go this even- 
ing,” he said after a pause. 

'' I hope it will go well,” said Lady Cynthia 

He inquired after her dress, and some animation 
appeared in her manner. It’s very pretty, I think. 
We’ve had them in plain self-colors, a different color 
for each of the fairies,” said she. “ Mine is pale blue 
with a lavender slip. And then, of course, you know, 
we have those absurd wings,” she concluded with a 
little laugh. 

It will look seraphic under the moon,” said Ban- 
natyne. I’m glad I’m to be there. The rehearsal will 
really be better than the performance, for the moon will 
add to the romance, and to-morrow we shall be only in 
evening twilight.” 

“ Do you think it will ? ” asked Lady Cynthia. 

“ Don’t you think moonlight more romantic than 
twdight ? ” he asked. 

“ I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. It’s more 
showy, certainly. But hasn’t the gloaming traditionally 
more claims?” 


256 


Lord Eastwood 


“ So has moonlight. It’s all that word, ' gloaming.* 
It’s unfair. Poets have used it because it sounds nice. 
Gloaming ends in darkness, moonlight in dawn.” 

” I think that proves you in the wrong,” said she. 

“ You mean romance dwells in darkness rather than 
in light. Perhaps you’re right. I don’t know. What is 
romance, if it comes to that? What is life? What is 
death? One simply gives up before the big questions; 
one capitulates. First principles would be convincing if 
you could get at them; but you can’t. I know what is 
romantic in the concrete, but I should not like to define 
romance. Give her wings; let her soar; let her possess 
the waste spaces of the universe. If we catch the gleam 
of her skirts, let us be happy and ask no more.” He 
stopped suddenly. ‘‘ Lady Cynthia,” he said, “ once you 
plucked a rose for me; will you be so good as to pluck 
me another?” 

“ I never plucked one for you,” she said, smiling. 
''You’re mixing me up with some of the many people 
who pluck roses for you.” 

" Well, you gave me one,” he said. " I have it 
still. It lives on whisky and water. It’s a regular toper. 
But it’s dying alone; it wants companionship.” 

" There are plenty of lovely companions for it,” she 
said, pointing to the bushes. 

He looked at her, but she was looking elsewhere, and 
after a pause he moved forward and fingered the leaves 
of a rosebush. 

" What rose is this ? ” he asked, as he held up a 
long white bud just breaking outward into full flower. 

257 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


‘‘ Niphetos,” said Lady Cynthia. 

He set it in his buttonhole and plunged his hand 
again into the bush. Pulling it forth again, with a sec- 
ond bloom, he lifted it to his face. 

“ No thorns go as deep as the rose’s,” he quoted, 
as a stain of red blood emerged. ” Will you have this 
one. Lady Cynthia ? ” 

“ Thank you,” she said, taking it from him. She 
placed it at her breast, and went gently forward. Ban- 
natyne joined her. Somehow the conversation was list- 
less. They emerged from the rosery, wearing each a 
Niphetos rose, and on nearing the house Bannatyne de- 
scried Eastwood talking with Lady Fallowfield. His 
companion seemed disposed to enter the house by the 
western terrace, but something moved him, and he 
walked straight on, holding her in conversation. The 
result was that they passed close by Lady Fallowfield 
and the undersecretary. The countess’s gaze rested on 
them casually, and perhaps a little interrogatively; she 
parted her lips. 

You do know Lord Eastwood, Mr. Bannatyne,” she 
called. 

Bannatyne stopped. '' I have that satisfaction,” he 
said, and held out a hand. '‘How d’ye do. Lord East- 
wood. Just from town? Is the Government still in? 
Let me see : you’re something in it, aren’t you ? ” 

Lord Eastwood stared ; Lady Fallowfield smiled 
amusedly; but her daughter’s face was free of any ex- 
pression, though slightly flushed. 

” The Government’s in no danger,” said the under- 
258 


Lord Eastwood 


secretary complacently. “ The Opposition have no 
leader. Charming country,” he remarked to Lady Fal- 
lowfield. 

He had a hard, capable, and unimaginative face, and 
there were in the mass of his jaw tenacity and obstinacy; 
obviously he was a self-reliant and self-assured man. 
Clearly he would, in Lady Fallowfield’s phrase, “ go far.” 
His glance went deliberately round the environing hills 
with a certain cool patronage ; he passed ” the scenery. 
Bannatyne was irritated. 

“Well, I’m afraid we must be getting on. Lady 
Cynthia,” he said to the girl cheerfully. “ Hope you’ll 
enjoy your holiday. Lord Eastwood. It must be a relief 
not to be speaking.” 

He nodded, and took off his hat brazenly to Lady 
Fallowfield, whose eyes twinkled at him. Eastwood 
stared, and then his eyes were arrested by the Niphetos 
roses. He glanced from one to the other, and then 
turned a shoulder to them, and began to talk to Lady 
Fallowfield. To Bannatyne’s surprise. Lady Cynthia 
walked on with him, which he had not expected in an- 
swer to his piece of bluff. She went passively by his 
side. 

“ I believe he’s Prime Minister, or something of that 
sort,” remarked Bannatyne indifferently to her, but he 
would have liked to hear what Eastwood was saying to 
the countess; and he knew he was getting a reputation 
from her as a chartered libertine. Somehow this idea 
did not please him. Lady Fallowfield’s smile had in- 
dulged him; he knew that, and he felt angry. He 

259 


A Midsummer Day’s Dream 


glanced askance at her daughter, who was silent and 
passive. 

'' Wouldn’t it be a good idea to go up on the downs 
this afternoon ? ” he asked diffidently. 

''An excellent idea,” she replied. 

" Then will you — ” he began, and was interrupted. 

" Oh, thanks, very much ; I’ve got something else 
to do. But there are plenty of others who would be 
glad.” 

" I suppose there are,” he mused, as they stopped 
at the entrance to the house. " Well, I’ll lay the highly 
original idea before them.” 

His ear caught by a noise of laughter in the dis- 
tance, he shot a glance round. A buttress intervening 
shut off the sight, but it was merry laughter. Lady 
Cynthia nodded at him in a friendly way, so very like 
her mother, and was gone. Bannatyne turned away 
sharply; he experienced at once mortification and pain. 
He loathed Lord Eastwood. Shouts came from round 
the corner. He turned it, and Chloe Merrington ran into 
his arms. 


260 


CHAPTER XVI 


LOVE IN IDLENESS 

Chloe extricated herself with an embarrassed laugh. 
She was pink and pretty, and her hair was in divine 
disorder. 

“ Oh, Mr. Bannatyne,” she panted, we’re playing 
such an amusing game! We’re throwing cherries into 
Mr. Bouverie’s mouth, and I’m just going back for 
more.” 

Bannatyne shook his head. Is this, I ask you. Miss 
Chloe, is this the way to spend a summer afternoon? 
How many pounds of cherries has Bouverie swal- 
lowed ? ” 

“ Oh, but he doesn’t catch them all,” explained Chloe. 

Sometimes he misses, and they hit him on the nose 
or somewhere,” she giggled. '' But he’s pretty good at 
it,” she confessed. 

'' It’s all right. Miss Merrington,” called out Gay’s 
voice. I have some,” and his round red face emerged 
from behind some bushes. Bannatyne followed them. 
On a piece of lawn stood the Hon. Peter Bouverie, M.P., 
anxiously watching the flight of a cherry as it dropped 
toward him. There was a dodge, a snap of the teeth, 
and — plop! — it had fallen into the trap. 

“ Mine, now — oh, do catch mine, Mr. Bouverie ! ” 
cried a girl in excitement. She rushed forward, as if 
261 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


she were bowling at a wicket, with a rustle of her 
skirts, and propelled her cherry wildly in the air. It 
struck Bouverie on the chin, and he rubbed it. 

“ That’s a yorker,” he said. I’m not sure it isn’t 
a full pitchy Miss Bellenden. Please, don’t bowl round 
the wicket. It puts me out. Now, then. Miss Mer- 
rington.” 

Kathleen Merrington delicately made her throw, and 
had the satisfaction of seeing Bouverie’s jaws snap over 
it. Bannatyne advanced. 

'‘No, I will not,” said Bouverie, seeing him. " This 
is a professional, and I object. I’m only playing ama- 
teurs.” 

“How are you feeling?” inquired Bannatyne anx- 
iously. 

“ I feel as if I had had too much dessert,” said Bou- 
verie. “ I propose some one else takes my place. You, 
Bannatyne.” 

“ Indeed, no,” he replied indignantly. “ I have more 
self-respect. I’m ashamed of you, at your age.” 

“ What is my age ? ” asked Bouverie calmly, re- 
joining them. 

“ Oh, about seventy, I should say,” said Bannatyne 
rudely. 

Bouverie turned solemnly to the group. “Young 
ladies, I appeal to you. He says I’m seventy, in that 
brutal, vicious manner of his with which you are no 
doubt all familiar. I will not deny that I’m feeling 
considerably older than I was ten minutes ago, when 
we started this very interesting game ; but seventy ! ” 
262 


Love in Idleness 


Gladys,” said Bannatyne reproachfully, as she came 
up, I believe you started this game ! ” 

Indeed I didn’t, Mr. Bannatyne,” she pleaded 
eagerly. “ It was Mr. Bouverie himself. He said it 
was much better than cherry bob, and they’d be sorry 
when they heard of it in the House, and he hoped they’d 
bury him in Westminster Abbey.” 

“ It isn’t at all difficult, as a matter of fact,” Gay 
assured the girls in his precisest voice, as Bouverie 
walked away to more adult company. “ In fact it’s 
rather easy. If you watch the descent of the cherry 
carefully, and open your mouth at the right time, nicely 
calculated, you are generally sure of your catch. Now, 
just you try. Miss Bellenden.” 

“No, thank you,” said that young lady decidedly. 

Gay looked round him. “ Miss Merringtoh,” he said. 

Kathleen shook her head prettily. His gaze wan- 
dered on, and rested on Chloe. She looked doubtful, 
a reckless smile on her face, and glanced at Banna- 
tyne as if for advice. 

“ Do,” he said under his breath. “ I’ll bowl to you.” 

Chloe Merrington went forward lightly, and retired 
some distance. “Is this far enough?” she called. 

“ It will do for a start,” Bannatyne replied. 
“ Now, I’ll send down slows. Give me that plate. 
Gay. Ready ! ” 

The first cherry fell wide of the girl, though she 
made a frantic dash toward it; the second fell on her 
shoulder; the third hit her sharply on the forehead and 
wrested a tiny exclamation from her. The curves of her 
263 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


young throat and the lines of her young body were con- 
spicuous as she moved lithely hither and thither. Ban- 
natyne stopped throwing. 

You are too eager/' he said. 

You don’t watch the cherry,” said Gay. I’ll show 
you what I mean.” 

Chloe came toward them, smiling, red from her ex- 
ertions. She looked charming. 

Gay took her place, and stood, his fat face thrown 
well back on a fat neck, his eyeglass in his eye, directed 
heavenward. Bannatyne tossed a cherry into the air. 
It descended on Gay’s upper lip. 

‘‘Ah, that was an error; I wasn’t quite ready,” he 
murmured. 

Bannatyne threw again, and Gay, stepping backward 
to catch, lost his hat and toppled over it, coming to a 
collapse on the lawn. The girls tittered. He struggled 
up ruefully. 

“ Another ? ” said Bannatyne gravely. 

“ Please,” said poor Gay, desperate to restore his 
prestige. 

Another hurtled through the air, and dropped like 
a rocket stick plump between his eyes. It was a rich 
blackheart, and it had been overripe; so that, meeting 
with that impact, it split, spread, and scattered. Gay’s 
face was bespattered with the blood-red stains, and a 
patch covered one eye, the eye that held the eyeglass. 
Chloe Herrington went off into a helpless peal of 
laughter; Kathleen turned away, and Miss Bellenden 
held her handkerchief to her face. 

264 


Love in Idleness 


“ Fm awfully sorry, my dear Gay,” said Bannatyne. 
“The whitehearts seem all gone.” 

The young man was engaged in a process of cleansing 
his face, with his back to the spectators, and he was 
understood to say something under his breath which 
was unintelligible at the distance. 

“ The best service we can render him is to leave 
him,” said Bannatyne to the girls. “ He will appre- 
ciate that kindness.” 

Smilingly they followed him into another part of 
the garden, leaving Gay to a wretched retrospect. The 
three girls — for Gladys had disappeared — trooped after 
him in gay spirits ; they had the effect of brightness, of 
prettiness, and of irresponsibility. Kathleen smiled at 
Miss Bellenden, and Miss Bellenden smiled at Chloe, 
and Chloe smiled back and at him. He understood that 
Miss Bellenden was another fairy. Lady Coombe had 
certainly secured some delightful fairies. Her name 
emerged and was bandied about. It was Agatha. Ban- 
natyne, in his tour of the grounds, followed by three 
chatterers, found himself disposed to call them by their 
appropriate names without the formality of polite ad- 
dress. It seemed ridiculous that Chloe should be Miss 
anything, and Kathleen should surely be only Kathleen. 
Agatha was willful and spirited, and why was she to be 
Miss Bellenden ? However, conventions still hedged him 
in, and he made no effort to break them. As they 
laughed and talked nonsense his thoughts went back to 
Lady Cynthia, and grew a little bitter. With bitterness 
his recklessness increased. Chloe, he knew, was at his 
18 265 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


disposal; her frank and innocent admiration told him 
that; and he thought the pretty Miss Bellenden had a 
little of the sprite in her. 

“ I will tell you a secret,” he said in a mysterious 
voice, “ now that we’re safe out here with no audience.” 
The girls’ chatter ceased. They were all attention. 

“ Have any of you ever been on the downs ? ” 

Oh, yes ; Chloe Herrington had been, and Miss 
Bellenden also. 

Well, those greensand hills range for several miles, 
over a pretty country full of forest and heath. So much 
you know, children. But have you ever heard of a 
part of the woodland known as Somerslease ? ” 

Chloe thought she had; the others had not. 

‘^And has any whisper come to you,” he pursued, 
holding their eyes with a significant finger, ‘‘of a cer- 
tain spring or well up there which dates back a thousand 
years or more, and owns wonderful properties ? ” 

“ No ! ” they all cried frankly and breathlessly. 

“ It’s properties,” said Bannatyne, sinking his voice, 
“ include one remarkable power : the power of beautifica- 
tion. Some authorities have been of opinion that there 
is a mistake, and that the word should really be read 
‘ beatification.’ Scholiasts have written putide in con- 
temptuous footnotes, and a fierce fight rages about the 
‘u’ even to this day. However, I need not go into 
that. It is sufficient to say that the water of the well, 
in its solitary setting amid profound woods and silences, 
has the reputation of rendering either happy or handsome 
any who laves therein.” 


266 


Love in Idleness 


“ Really ? ” cried Miss Bellenden with interest. 

Chloe gazed, lips parted in frank excitement. Kath- 
leen was gently solicitous. Bannatyne looked from one 
to another. 

'' It is quite absurd,” he went on in an apologetic 
voice, for me to have introduced this subject in this 
company. I was going to propose that we should all 
pay the well a visit, but ” — he spread out his hands 
in deprecation — I apologize, I ask pardon. I will go 
elsewhere. Mind you, it was only for myself that I 
desired the visit. I will not insult the three Graces by 
suggesting ” 

“ Oh, but we want to go ! ” cried Miss Bellenden. 

Do take us, Mr. Bannatyne,” pleaded Chloe. 

He gazed at them slyly. “ It is possible, of course, 
that you may not all be quite happy he said. The 
heart knoweth its own bitterness. And if we assume 
that the scholiasts who favor the word *a’ are in the 
right, a visit might possibly be justified. But on no 
other assumption will I take you. I hope that is clearly 
understood ? ” he asked seriously. 

Three faces were flushed, and exchanged glances. 
'' Oh, yes,” three voices chorused. 

“ Then let us proceed to steal one of Sir Edward’s 
motor cars,” said Bannatyne, turning on his heel. 

They followed, Chloe, alas! reckless of the fact that 
she had promised to go trout-fishing in the Welling- 
bourne with Walrond, and Miss Bellenden oblivious of 
her engagement to walk with Atherton and his party. 
A small Panhard was available and quickly in readi- 
267 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


ness, and into it the girls crowded. There was no room 
for the chauffeur, who resigned his place to Banna- 
tyne indifferently; and within a quarter of an hour they 
were off, a reckless, merry, giggling party. 

A rush of wind met them in the road, tempering the 
great heat, and pleasure grew and sparkled in the faces 
of the young girls. They were near of an age. Chloe 
was eighteen, Kathleen twenty, and Miss Bellenden, ac- 
cording to Bannatyne’s guess, might be twenty-one. He 
felt paternally fraternal, and sprang from nonsense to 
nonsense. It was Chloe who sat beside him, Chloe al- 
most with an air of possession, Chloe hanging on his 
words and laughing like a child. She turned a demure 
face of smiling satisfaction round to her companions 
behind from time to time. They leaned forward, so 
as not to miss the conversation. Bannatyne drove 
briskly and talked briskly. There could be no doubt 
that they were enjoying it. 

The car turned from the highway, and, altering its 
speed, began to talk as it slid up the hill; meadows 
gave place to abrupt woodland; the blue-green of the 
pines rose up in the distance; the scent of the pines 
was in their nostrils. The car kicked, all but stopped, 
and, feeling its power now, sped upward, with the wild 
forest upon either hand. The firs went by like flashes; 
the undergrowth of whortleberry was a blur of green; 
the Panhard hummed like a hive. The road wound 
round the crest of the hill. 

When Bannatyne brought up before the inn door of 
the tiny village among heath and pine on the shoulder 
268 


Love in Idleness 


of the hill, he looked down on three excited faces. 
Leaving the car in charge of the innkeeper, he led the 
way down a decline in those petty Alps and struck 
into a rough track ’twixt wood and field. Twenty min- 
utes’ walking brought them to a falling valley, silent 
and opaque under the summer sun. It was clothed about 
with woods and grown with bracken, and halfway down 
it a narrow path led amid brier and bramble and fern 
to the well. 

The water issued from a little spring, and filled a 
square and ancient tank of brickwork, whence it dribbled 
again among the rank undergrowth, and flowed down 
into a rivulet in the valley. The pool in the tank was 
clear and cool to the eye. 

“ This is Mag’s Well, ladies, as it has existed from 
the Christian era, at least, if not longer. It will cure 
colds, coughs, influenza, headache, pains in the — that 
is, heartburn, erysipelas, typhoid fever, and heartache; 
but most particularly heartache.” 

Miss Bellenden laughed. “ But why most particu- 
larly heartache ? ” she inquired boldly. 

‘‘ Having bathed in the waters,” said Bannatyne sol- 
emnly, “ a young man or a young woman becomes 
irresistible by reason of the increase of his or her 
beauty.” He looked at all three apprehensively. “ But 
please, don’t any of you bathe in it,” he begged. 

Miss Bellenden took a step nearer, as if with inten- 
tion. 

“ I shall simply take the next train to town,” he 
declared decidedly. 


269 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


Miss Bellenden laughed; she threatened him thus 
playfully, and Chloe joined her to look down into the 
water. 

“ Miss Chloe, you really mustn’t ! ” he supplicated. 
“ It’s bad enough as it is ; but it’s terrible to think what 
will happen if you should fall in. The only way I can 
think of preventing a dreadful calamity,” he went on, 
plumping himself down on the grass, is for me to 
sit here indefinitely. Then you can’t bathe.” 

Miss Bellenden glanced at him with eyes hatching 
mischief. “ Is the power of the water confined to the 
parts touched ? ” she asked. 

Bannatyne nodded : “ Absolutely.” 

She turned to Chloe. “ Then I think it would be 
enough if we washed our hands and faces,” she sug- 
gested. 

You don’t need it — you really don’t need it ! ” cried 
Bannatyne in mock alarm. 

They smiled joyfully. 

‘‘ They’re quite clean,” he added reassuringly. 

Kathleen Merrington broke out into an amused laugh. 

Chloe was looking interestedly at the pool, and 
now she stooped and ran her hands through the cool 
water. 

“ Oh, it’s beautiful ! ” she called out. 

“ I can quite see that this valley is going to be 
turned into a tragic grove of classic times,” said Ban- 
natyne warningly. “ Well, I have remonstrated. Your 
blood is on your own heads. Have you never heard of 
the fate of Daphne ? ” 


270 


Love in Idleness 


'' What happened to her?” inquired Chloe, looking 
up from where she dabbled her hands. 

“ She was turned into a laurel, because of her 
beauty,” he said. 

“ But why was she turned into a laurel ? ” asked 
Chloe, puzzled. 

“ She begged to be.” 

Why ? ” persisted the girl, still puzzled. 

Miss Bellenden stood looking appreciatively at him, 
a smile on her lips. Miss Bellenden had read classical 
mythology. 

“To escape,” he explained. It was being wrung 
from him fragment by fragment. 

“What?” asked Chloe. 

He met Miss Bellenden’s smiling and intelligent 
glance and took refuge there hurriedly. “ Ask Miss 
Bellenden.” 

“ She had too ardent an admirer,” said Miss Bel- 
lenden. 

Bannatyne nodded. “ So, beware. Miss Chloe.” 

The full meaning of the comparison dawned slowly 
and with force on Chloe ; she blushed as she dabbled her 
hands, and then, with a little flutter of excitement at 
her heart, she lifted wet fingers to her pretty face. Ban- 
natyne saw, and made a feint of covering his face with 
his hands. He groaned. Mischief seized on the three. 
They all bent, and, kneeling by the tank, scooped water 
in the palms of their hands and bathed their faces, Miss 
Bellenden with laughter. Miss Merring^on with silent 
playfulness. Bannatyne hid his head, and peeped 
271 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


with pretended bashfulness through his fingers at the 
pretty sight. 

Three maidens, robed in soft summer dresses, knelt 
under the tender green of the embowering undergrowth 
and were bowed over the translucent water, as if they 
had been princesses in a fairy tale. He pulled his hand 
from his face. 

‘‘ It’s no good,” he said desperately. The mis- 
chief’s done. I may as well get what good I can now 
by feasting on the beauty. Oh, beatified beauty ! ” 

Chloe rose smiling; Kathleen rose; Miss Bellenden 
rose. 

You may as well complete the charm now,” said 
Bannatyne. '' I’ll go away and leave you.” 

Oh, no ; we’re quite satisfied,” Miss Bellenden as- 
sured him. It’s had all the effect we want.” 

He inspected her, and she moved uneasily. “ Yes, I 
I should think it had,” he said meaningly. “ Indeed, I 
should hope so.” 

Miss Bellenden blushed, and he turned his gaze to 
Kathleen. 

I should think you were content too. Miss Mer- 
rington,” he said. 

Kathleen blushed. 

Oh, Miss Chloe ! ” he shook his head reproachfully. 

Miss Chloe blushed. 

“ May I walk between you ? ” he asked. '' Oh, no, 
I can’t, between three. How can we manage? May I 
take one at a time? The only difficulty is to know whom 
to begin with. It’s a terrible situation. Why did I 
272 


Love in Idleness 


ever bring you here? Fool that I was! I ought to 
have left well enough alone, and remained single-hearted 
and happy, without a thought of these horrid problems. 
Love, Miss Bellenden, is a gnawing misery — a canker — 
a disease. You’ll find it out some day, and then you’ll 
be sorry for your heartless conduct to-day. And when 

three gnawing miseries are on at the same time ” 

They were walking up the valley toward the village, 
and now he stopped. “ I never thought of it,” he said, 
and hit himself. I could have washed myself and 
become irresistible. I’ll go back and ” 

Oh, please, please don’t, Mr. Bannatyne ! ” pleaded 
Chloe in tones of distress, fun and gladness sparkling 
in her eyes. 

Be merciful I ” implored Miss Bellenden. 

No ; it wouldn’t solve the problem,” said he, re- 
suming his walk, as if he had not heard these appeals. 
“ It wouldn’t tell me — which. It might only add to my 
embarrassments. What I want is Oberon's Love-in- 
Idleness.” He inspected the smiling faces, heaved a 
heavy sigh, and quickened his pace. 

At the inn he stopped. Goddesses don’t eat, but 
they sometimes drink lemonade — I mean nectar. Will 
any goddess sip nectar ? ” 

The goddesses shook their heads. 

'' Of course, I could ' do a bolt ’ in the motor,” he 
said thoughtfully. “ But I must resign myself to fate. It 
is fate — it is destiny. Kismet ! All aboard, your graces ! ” 
Chattering, they took their seats, and the Panhard, 
slipping its moorings, whizzed down the white road 

273 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


ecstatically. Miss Chloe had to hold her hat on; Miss 
Bellenden’s voice tossed on the wind. A great air 
rolled up from the weald and streamed cool on the 
heights of the down. The furze pods cracked in the 
hot sun, but the wind of heaven inwrapped the voyagers 
in their flying car. 

“ I have been trying to make out which of you is 
which,” shouted Bannatyne over his shoulder; for he 
had been silent for ten minutes, while he steered the 
Panhard. “ Which is Aphrodite ? ” 

The two girls behind looked at each other with sup- 
pressed laughter, and said nothing. 

“ Which is Hera ? And which is Pallas Athene ? ” he 
went on. 

“ If I only knew which was which I could make up 
my mind, I think. I have my ideas, but I don’t like 
to broach them, in case they’re wrong. I think I know 
which is Aphrodite, the goddess of love.” 

His glance passed from Miss Bellenden to Miss Mer- 
rington, and from Kathleen to her sister, but it revealed 
nothing, only gravity of demeanor; then it swung off 
to the road ahead, and he was taken up with his duties. 

The girls talked together; they were enjoying the 
end of the expedition as fully as they had enjoyed the 
outset. It had been perfect. 

Chloe, turning, indicated a little bottle in her coat 
pocket. Kathleen stared in interrogation. 

It’s water from the well,” whispered back Chloe. 

I filled it when no one was looking.” 

Miss Bellenden’s eyebrows went up inquiringly. 

274 


Love in Idleness 


Don’t you think,” said Chloe naively, “ don’t you 
think — perhaps there is something in it — such an old 
well ” 

Miss Bellenden laughed aloud. Chloe faltered. Ban- 
natyne turned round. 

Won’t you tell me which is which?” he said, his 
thoughts resuming the subject. The car was running 
of its own weight down the steep slope into the valley. 
The lanes were embowered; the nut and the bramble 
almost met and interweaved overhead. A turn of the 
road, and lo! of a sudden the backbone of the chalk 
downs to the north, and the high-perched Pilgrim 
chapel in the eye of the sun. 

“ We don’t know,” said Miss Bellenden. ‘‘ I don’t 
think I’m Pallas Athene; I’m not feeling very wise to- 
day.” 

“ Then are you — ” He stopped. Miss Bellenden 
blushed once more. She did not shake her head. '' Patuit 
dea” he murmured. Hera was ox-eyed. Who is ox- 
eyed ? ” He left them the problem, while his attention 
was again engaged by the machine. 

They regarded one another. Miss Bellendeh’s eyes 
were large, and full of light. Was that what Homer 
had intended to signify by BoooTrt? ? The problem re- 
mained. It was not settled when he faced them again, 
as they ran out upon the highroad. 

“ Of course, I could tell if I had half a chance. 
Patuit dea. But that is denied me.” 

‘‘ How could you tell ? ” asked Miss Bellenden chal- 
lengingly. 


275 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


“ Fm not going to tell,” he declared. Only I may 
remark that Paris’s problem was comparatively easy; 
mine is hard. Patuit dea. I give it up.” 

He looked quizzingly at Chloe, who was clutching her 
bottle under the shelter of her linen motor coat. Her 
eyes dropped. They were nearing Temple Hall. Far 
away a horn screamed resonantly; the Panhard replied. 

“ Fm going to run away as soon as I get down,” 
he told her. “ Problems daunt me. O ye of little 
heart ! ” 

Chloe clutched her bottle. Was she also of little 
faith? She would lave in that stolen water this night 
in the solitude of her chamber. She would have grace 
and beauty in all her fair young body. At least there 
was a chance. It would do no harm. 

The Panhard crawled up to the stables, and they 
descended. Bannatyne flew, waving a hand behind him, 
and followed by approving laughter. He had main- 
tained the nonsensical pretense to the end; he was con- 
sistent; he had played out his part. 

But already in himself a reaction had set in, and the 
current was flowing strongly. He experienced a surge 
of bitterness from the bottom of his soul. He passed by 
the house and went down the path. It was five o’clock ; 
and tea would be available, but he wanted no tea. He 
descended the course of the stream toward the lodge 
gates. 

The Wellingbourne, after passage through the gar- 
dens, flows in a clear bottom by devious curves through 
the park. It turns a private sawmill on the estate, and 
276 


Love in Idleness 


goes in alternate deeps and shallows, by meadow and 
wood and by osiered banks, until it makes its exit under 
a roadway and pours into the flat pastures under the 
western hill. Once or twice the stream broadens into 
a pool, and in one of these the bathing place had been 
constructed, a bathing place fenced about with close-set 
hedges— a basin of marble, the hobby of a dead ex- 
travagant Coombe, approached by a level of soft green- 
sward. 

Bannatyne reached this, and it caught his eye. The 
heat was almost at its height here in the valley, and 
he stood indecisively, drawn toward the thought of cool 
water. Then he turned and began to go forward, hav- 
ing remembered suddenly that this thought was im- 
practicable; for this hour was reserved especially for 
the ladies. 

As he resumed he was aware of a cry, repeated 
twice, and then of a voice raised in piteous entreaty. He 
came to a pause again, waiting, and what he heard 
made him jump quickly to a conclusion. The outcry 
came from the bathing place, and betokened some one 
in trouble. There could be no doubt of that. It was 
not mimic terror that sounded in that scream. 

Help!” 

Bannatyne turned about and rushed for the entrance, 
which was not far from him. The gate was unlocked, 
and he threw it open and ran in and between the green 
hedges that intervened. A soft lawn turf led to the 
water’s edge, but so closely was the basin veiled by the 
screens of hedge and shrubbery that he did not see 
277 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


anything till he reached the verge of the water. Then 
what he saw set him again in motion round the bottom 
of the bath and flying toward the top. 

One girl was in the deep water, clutching wildly at 
the smooth sides of the marble, while another leaned 
over and was grasping weakly and helplessly at her com- 
panion. Bannatyne reached them, and the one on the 
brink looked up. It was Kitty Latham. His eyes went 
down in a flash, and he saw who it was that struggled 
in the water below him. He stooped, lay flat upon his 
chest, and put down long arms. In two hands he 
seized her two hands and drew her upward. His 
muscles strained and cracked, for the pull of the water 
was tremendous; it sucked at its prey angrily. Ban- 
natyne was, of a slight build, in which his actual strength 
was not advertised; but the effort to drag her from 
the water proved too much for his strong sinews. He 
looked into eyes from which fear seemed to have fled; 
they were fixed on him trustfully. 

I must tow you down to shallow water, he said, 
breathing hard. “You’re not afraid?” 

“ No.” Her breath also came hard. 

He got to his feet with difficulty, and in a painful 
stooping position crawled down the basin’s edge, still 
grasping her hands. A long swirl and foam of water 
followed the passage of her body. She breasted the 
water like a naiad, the blue of her dress showing 
through the ripples of the white water. Bannatyne 
stopped. 

“ Now,” he said, and smiled at her. 

278 


Love in Idleness 


She rose to her feet stumblingly, and he gathered all 
his strength to draw her forth. She rose out of the 
pool and tottered upon the brink, so that he caught her 
in his arms, and she lay there. 

‘‘ Safe ! ” he murmured smilingly. She smiled back 
and stood up. How did you — ” he began, but she had 
not yet got her balance, and tottered again. He put out 
an arm as before, but he was unwontedly, strangely ex- 
cited. He was on the brink, and his feet went over 
the edge. Bannatyne was plunged with a splash into 
the noisy water. 

He rose to the surface with a grimace, and hatless. 
His clothes hung ridiculously; he had the air of a 
trick performer, as he waded awkwardly to the edge. 
Kitty Latham looked startled, but relieved, for the water 
here was only four feet in depth. Lady Cynthia, who 
was seated on a wooden seat, recovering, uttered a little 
breathless laugh. Perhaps it was half hysterical; yet 
Bannatyne’s plunge had been pantomimic, and he was 
conscious of it. He emerged, squeezing the water from 
his coat with a rueful smile. 

Pm afraid I rather spoiled the effect of that,’' he 
said. “ It ought to have been dramatic, but it’s turned 
out merely farcical. Lady Cynthia, how did you manage 
yours ? ” 

She smiled faintly. I mistook the deep water,” she 
said with difficulty. 

He looked at Miss Latham. It was evident from 
her costume that she had not even been in. The acci- 
dent had discovered her undressing; her bodice was 
279 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


open, showing her white throat; but she was all un- 
conscious. 

And I — and we can’t swim,” said Kitty Latham, 
with a gulp in her throat. She looked now to be on 
the verge of tears. 

Bannatyne squeezed more water from his coat. 

“ I seem bound to be a mock hero,” he observed 
lightly. “ I save people from all kinds of absurdities — 
Miss Arden from a bull that’s a cow, Miss Latham from 
a bee that wouldn’t bite, and Lady Cynthia from water 
that wouldn’t drown.” 

“ It’s eight feet,” said Kitty seriously. 

Yes, but Lady Cynthia could have crept along the 
ropes to the shallows,” he said, still squeezing. 

Lady Cynthia started. '' I didn’t — I couldn’t find 
them. I didn’t — oh, how utterly stupid of me ! ” 

Bannatyne looked at Kitty Latham reproachfully. 
“ I’m really tired of being a sham hero,” he said. 
“ Don’t give me away, please.” 

Lady Cynthia changed color ; she looked away 
abruptly; her breath was still coming fast, but she had 
quite recovered. 

“ And I’m grateful for one thing,” went on Banna- 
tyne. “ It was good of you ladies not to laugh at me.” 


280 


CHAPTER XVII 

WELL MET BY MOONLIGHT 

As Bannatyne entered the house he encountered 
Chloe, who gazed at him in dismay. 

“What has happened?” she asked in the friendly 
way into which she had fallen with him. 

“ Don’t tell anyone,” he replied. “ I’ve been bathing 
in the magic well, and it’s made me hideous. At least, 
do you think I’m so hideous^ Miss Chloe?” he im- 
plored. 

She laughed, shaking her head. “ Not very,” she 
said. “ Now we'll have to hide,” she retorted on 
him. 

“ Oh, no ; it’s the reverse effect on a man, I find. 
It’s treacherous stuff. I’m going to hide myself for- 
ever. Good-by. Remember me sometimes.” 

He went upstairs and sought his room, to change; 
and after he had changed, he read for a little, then 
sauntered into the billiard room. It was still some 
time to dinner, but he was tired of the day. The light 
was garish, he declared to Madgwick, who invited him 
out. He knocked the balls about more or less aimlessly 
and smoked a cigarette, and had fallen into a reverie 
when he heard his name. Bouverie stood in the en- 
trance. 

19 281 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


“ Bannatyne,” said Bouverie, advancing solemnly 
toward him, and removing his cigar from his mouth to 
enhance the gravity of the occasion — Bannatyne, I 
am deputed by a majority of the male members of this 
house party to put to you a straight question. Your 
conduct has been under serious discussion, and I have 
been chosen reluctantly to represent and voice the 
unanimous opinion of the men, particularly the younger 
ones.’' 

You’re not making a speech in Parliament, Peter,” 
said Bannatyne rudely. “ Get on.” 

“To cut a long story short, as you are so bad- 
tempered, I have to ask — How many of these girls do 
you want ? ” 

“ Which girls ? ” asked Bannatyne, ceasing to knock 
the balls about. 

Bouverie spread his fingers out. “ All,” he said. “ I 
understand the phrase to include all. Pm not sure about 
Miss Ashcroft, but all else.” 

Bannatyne resumed work with his cue. “ I don’t 
know that I want any of them,” he said moodily. “ I 
won’t stand in your light. Pm only Cap and Bells'' 

“ But you don’t see the point,” said Bouverie. “ That 
makes it worse. You forget that all women dote on ac- 
tors, music-hall singers, and nigger minstrels.” 

^‘Well, we’re all actors,” remarked Bannatyne, mak- 
ing a shot for a pocket and missing, “ and, anyway. Pm 
tired of being one, and shall throw up the part.” 

“ Good heavens ! what will Lady Coombe ” 

“ Oh, no, Pll carry out my engagements there,” said 
282 


Well Met by Moonlight 


Bannatyne, putting his cue in the stand. “I meant 
generally.’’ 

Bouverie regarded him thoughtfully, and turned 
slowly on his heel. “ These are but daydreams, my 
dear fellow,” he called over his shoulder. “ A flash of 
moonlight will convert you again. Anyway, I believe 
it’s wholesome for you. It’s bad for me. I’m too 
old, and have lost the privilege of seeing fairies by 
moonlight. Better look to your costume, Lysander. 
Mine’s a beautiful one. I look like the Pantaloon, and 
shall capture all hearts, therefore.” He nodded genially 
as he went out, and after a pause Bannatyne followed 
him. He had forgotten the rehearsal that evening was 
to be in full dress. 

But Lady Coombe had not, nor had any other of 
the party. The hour before dinner, instead of being, as 
it usually is, the dullest of the twenty-four, was one of 
the liveliest. Girls flew about frantically in all direc- 
tions; men sat about and cracked jokes; and the ex- 
citement was quite as great as if the actual performance 
had arrived. After an early dinner all dispersed to 
dress in the marquees which had been set up well out 
of sight, at the back of Titania's Glade, which was to 
be the theater of the pastoral play. Lysander wore a 
doublet of green, with fine lace insertions, and his hose 
were of a similar color. A note of red characterized 
Demetrius. Titania was gorgeous with white samite, 
mystic, wonderful, and overflowed with pearls. Helena 
and Hermia were magnificently brave in raiment, as was 
Hippolyta, and never was there a more becoming coS' 
283 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


tume than the self-colors of the fairies. In lavender 
Lady Cynthia flitted past him under the moon, and did 
not recognize him. He saw Chloe and Kathleen, Kitty 
Latham and Miss Bellenden, and Gladys, too, all aglow 
with excitement and alive with beauty. They streamed 
past him like rainbow colors. It was a pretty bevy of 
fairies, and outshone the mortals. They glistered in 
the soft silver light; they seemed to be what they were 
supposed to be, ethereal; their very feet went noiseless 
over the grass. Their voices called musically to one 
another. 

Kitty!’’ 

“ Chloe!” 

Cynthia!” 

Hancock, important, businesslike, brusque, rang a 
handbell. 

“Now, then, is all our company here? Very well. 
Mind you, this is business. It’s our last. No fooling 
on anyone’s part. Madgwick and Mrs. Battye, a bit 
this way for entrance. That’s it. The overture is on 
now; it dies away. Now, enter Theseus” 

Bannatyne stood watching with indifferent interest 
till it was his cue to enter. He was aware soon of an 
undernote in Miss Grant-Summers which arrested him. 
She made an excellent Hermia, and far surpassed Miss 
Arden in the role of Helena. What was it new in her 
manner ? 

“‘My good Lysander! 

I swear to thee by Cupid’s straightest bow . . . 

To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.’” 

284 


Well Met by Moonlight 


A positive note of color was pronounced in her dress, 
and she looked handsomer than he had ever seen her, 
as well as more challenging. But was it that she pressed 
their intimacy closer? She played at him, and he was 
in the mood to admire and to play back. Her bold smile 
met and countered his; she raised her eyebrows, which 
had the effect of familiarity, and was quite pleasing. 
He had no feeling for Miss Grant-Summers more defi- 
nite than that of attraction to a beauty that advertised 
itself, that was living to its full strength and tide of 
blood; but that sufficed. The scene went with a swing 
that took the audience, and there was a little round of 
applause. Miss Grant-Summers tripped off, alertly self- 
conscious, her head charmingly poised as she cast an 
inquiring glance back across her shoulder at Banna- 
tyne. He followed congratulatory. 

Oh, I think it should go all right,” she said with 
diffidence that was gentle assurance. “Do you mind 
helping me with this cloak ? ” 

She turned her shoulder toward him as she spoke, 
with a certain air of authority. 

“ ‘ Help me, Lysander, help me ! do thy best,' ” she 
quoted, parting her ripe lips in a smile. 

“ A cloak ! ” he echoed, and with a glance at her, took 
hold of it as it hung on her shoulders. “No, I will 
be no party to it — to this unprecedented concealment,” he 
said. “ ’Tis a crime. Why wraps, this eventful night ? ” 
“ Would you have me catch cold ? ” she challenged. 

“ It is an urbane and benignant air,” he argued. 
“ Please — to oblige me.” 

285 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


She laughed softly, and turned round so that the 
wrap fell into his arms. “ As you will,” she said. “ But 
you are quite mad, and I think I am to listen to you.” 

'' I hope so,” he said. “ What better than to be mad 
together ? ” 

Just then several people surged about them, and a 
confused debate was in progress. 

'‘No; white, I think. Miss Bellenden.” 

“ Oh, but it ought to be blue.” 

“ Chloe, you surely don’t mean to say ” 

“ Why not have it red, white, and blue ? ” This was 
Gay. 

“ Miss Grant-Summers, don’t you think that Gladys 
should be in white ? ” appealed Miss Bellenden. 

“Does it matter?” said Miss Grant-Summers coldly, 
and shrugging her shoulders. 

“ Black and blue, I suggest,” remarked Bannatyne. 
His companion shot her appreciation at him in a smile 
that confided in him their dissociation from the rabble 
of girls and youths. 

But Miss Bellenden was not to be so easily denied. 
She was a beauty and an heiress to boot, and she was 
accustomed to her own way. She forced debate on Miss 
Grant- Summers, with the invaluable assistance of the 
persistent Gay. 

Bannatyne discovered some one close to him. 

“ Mr. Bannatyne,” said Lady Cynthia in a troubled 
voice, “ I wanted to tell you something, if I may.” 

He twisted about sharply. “ Lady Cynthia, I am 
all attention,” he said lightly. 

286 


Well Met by Moonlight 

“ I wanted to confess to you, and to apologize,” she 
went on hurriedly and tremulously. “ You thanked us 
for not laughing this afternoon when you — you saved 
my life, and I did laugh. Fm bitterly ashamed of 
myself. I couldn’t help it. I don’t know what came 
over me. I just had to laugh. I — oh, I am so ashamed, 
after what you’d done, too ! ” 

“ My dear Lady Cynthia,” said Bannatyne, “ the 
laugh was a natural reaction from a time of strain and 
stress. It was nature’s relief or cure. Through laugh- 
ter pours health. It is a safety valve through which the 
steam whistles. No, I don’t seem to have got that very 
elegantly. When a young lady laughs, you shouldn’t 
tell her that she’s been steam-whistling. Besides, I was 
a sight ! I laughed myself.” 

She looked incredulously and almost shyly at him. 

“ I did,” he assured her. “ I was struck all of a 
heap after dinner at the ludicrous figure I had cut, 
and I laughed so much that Bouverie gave me a comic 
paper to stop me.” 

She smiled. '' It’s awfully good of you,” she said ; 
‘‘ but I never shall forget it, nor how you saved my 
life, nor ” 

He put up a playful hand. Don’t ! please, don’t ! 
I am becoming rapidly a hero, malgre moi. I shall soon 
begin to believe in myself, like a member of Parliament. 
Don’t let’s be serious; let us take life flippantly. Lady 
Cynthia, knowing that nothing matters; and if it does, 
never mind.” 

Lady Cynthia made no reply; perhaps she had not 
287 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


expected this sort of statement. He began to walk on, 
and she walked with him still in silence. 

“ I shall be sad when this wonderful house party 
breaks up,” he declared. “ I shall miss my moonlight 
and my friends.” 

“ It has been great fun,” she agreed, “ and the 
weather has been perfect. I wonder if it will hold over 
to-morrow.” 

'' Sure,” he said. “ The papers all prophesy a bad 
week end. We shan’t even get the customary thun- 
derstorm that makes up one-third of the English sum- 
mer. Where do you go afterwards ? ” 

We go back to Wynnstay Gardens for a fort- 
night, I think,” said Lady Cynthia, “ and then my father 
is going to Badheim, and we go to — I’m not sure,” she 
broke off rather uncertainly. “We may stay with my 
sister,” she added. 

Bannatyne wondered. Had it to do with Eastwood? 
Was it anticipated that Lady Fallowfield and her daugh- 
ter would go later to Gratton Towers? In that case no 
doubt the announcement of the engagement would be 
made ere the end of the season. Halfway across the 
glade she turned: 

“ They will want me,” she said ; “ my scene is com- 
ing on.” 

They returned in silence amid the bracken, and she 
vanished from him into the circle. He stood and 
watched, till Bouverie joined him, awaiting his cue. 

“ It’s amazingly pretty, isn’t it? ” said Oheron. “ It’s 
so nice to be pretty and foolish! You’re thinking of 
288 


Well Met hy Moonlight 


settling down, Bannatyne ? ” he waved his hand toward 
the flashing scene. “ Just regard my own Titania’s court. 
I have a great critical taste in beauty, all the more that 
I have no personal interest in it left. And I assure you 
that it can’t be beat, my dear fellow. Down, down, 
foolish heart ! ” 

Bannatyne made no reply, and his friend examined 
him shrewdly under the moon. Then he got his call, 
and went on his way. 

The rehearsal satisfied Hancock up to the begin- 
ning of the third act, but at the famous Bottom scene it 
went wrong. Again and again he brought the char- 
acters back, and he vexed himself into perspiration and 
a temper. 

Bannatyne, looking round, saw a little way from him 
Lady Cynthia Dane standing in a muse, as she listened 
idly to Hancock’s criticisms. It was not her scene. 
A thought seized on him, enduing him with courage; 
he passed over to her and touched her arm. She 
started. 

'' This is intolerable,” he said. “ Let us walk to 
the head of the glade, or we shall all lose our tem- 
pers ! ” 

She said nothing, but smilingly obeyed, and soon the 
rehearsal was a mere knot of undeciphered figures in 
the distance. Bannatyne did not pause at the head of 
the glade; he entered the wood, putting out a hand to 
assist his companion. He could not tell if she hesitated ; 
she did not appear to do so; and presently they were 
treading the grassy path of the Wilderness, with the 
289 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


moon throwing their shadows palely before them as 
they walked. 

“ This was where I lost my way the night I ar- 
rived,” he said. 

“ You are hardly encouraging,” she said, smiling. 

“ Oh, I know better now,” he told her. “ I have 
learned much since, very much. I have learned much 
about the Wilderness and human nature.” 

“ Human nature ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes, particularly feminine nature.” 

“ Oh, you can’t be sure of that,” she said archly. 

“No,” he admitted; “but I think so. Of course, I 
won’t swear. You see. I’ve been on a mission while 
here. I’ve had a quest.” 

“ Quest?” 

“Yes. Can you keep a secret? I don’t suppose you 
can. But I am moved to confide in you. I shall do 
something desperate if I don’t tell some one. Lady 
Cynthia, by the memory of that service in church, swear 
to respect my confidence.” 

“ I swear,” she said, laughing. 

“ Well, I’ve been looking for Cinderella.” 

“ Cinderella ! ” echoed Lady Cynthia, coming to a 
pause. “ Don’t you think we’d better take this path ? 
It will take us back sooner.” 

He swung into the path. “And that reminds me 
of the story of the Dryad and the Shoe, Lady Cynthia, 
which, as you have not yet heard, I will now proceed 
to relate.” 

He told his story drolly and lightly, and with a 
290 


Well Met by Moonlight 


certain extravagance. “And so, you see, Lady Sche- 
herezade,” he concluded, “ that there was only one 
thing left for me to do: to search for the owner of 
the shoe, whom I had sworn on that sacred altar to 
marry.” 

“You swore to marry her?” asked Lady Cynthia 
lightly. 

“ I took the vow then and there, if she should ever 
be discovered ; and subsequent events have made me re- 
double my vows,” he declared. 

“ You were very rash,” said she. 

“ I was a prince in a fairy tale,” he said. 

“ You mean you were bound by the exigencies of 
your position ? ” 

“ Yes,” said he gravely. “ All princes in fairy tales 
swear to wed people they have never seen; and as for 
all princesses, their fathers swear it for them. It’s Rule 
Number i,ooi. The duty of a fairy prince is to marry 
the farthest and most difficult and least known princess. 
Duty is duty, and even beauty is bound by it. Some 
think that duty is only skin deep; but it’s a mistake — 
isn’t it, Lady Cynthia?” 

“ I — I suppose so,” she responded. 

“ Duty,” said Bannatyne sententiously, “ permeates 
all life, from the nursery to the grave. Duty is one of 
those things-in-themselves of which Plato wrote : ‘ Duty 
is the Absolute.’ If we only knew what the mischief 
it was,” he added reflectively. 

“ We have some guides,” she suggested. 

He waved his hand. “ Oh, yes ; there is the cate- 
291 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


chism. There is a duty to God, and there is a duty 
to our neighbors. I wonder what our duty to our 
neighbors really is. Does it include speaking the truth, 
and nothing but the truth? And is there such a thing 
as duty toward ourselves ? 

“ I should say so,'' she replied. 

“ How would you define it?" 

‘‘ I don't think I could define it," she said un- 
easily. 

“ Not to lose the good of life," he suggested, “ con- 
sistently with other people's welfare? That’s rough, but 
it's comprehensive. I think it covers most points. It 
covers, for example, marriage de convenance” 

I don't understand," said Lady Cynthia faintly. 

“ There is a kind of cant," he said, “ which calls 
itself duty toward ' our order.' I loathe it. There is a 
duty toward human nature, but there is no duty toward 
Our Order, or anyone's order. It is sickening snob- 
bery or hypocrisy, or — well, give it any name you will. 
Because ‘ our order ' has to be kept up, or thinks it has 
to be kept up, sacrifices are demanded — ^the lamb is 
dumb before her shearers. Iphigenia perishes on the 
altar — I had almost said at the altar.” 

Lady Cynthia did not speak in the silence that en- 
sued, and he went on presently: 

“ Money mates with a title ; beauty with notoriety. 
It is all unclean. There is only one clear duty stick- 
ing out here, and that is the duty of obedience to 
nature — nature. Lady Cynthia, that we see around us 
now, in this glory of midsummer." 

292 


Well Met hy Moonlight 


‘‘ Nature makes mistakes,” said she quietly. 

Oh, yes, she blunders, but she gets there,” he de- 
clared. 

He stopped, and looked about on the edge of the 
wood, through which the high moon was shining. The 
glade was bathed in light. She, too, came to a pause 
and was silent. 

“ Lady Cynthia ! Lady Cynthia ! ” rose a voice sud- 
denly on the outskirts of the wood. “ Lady Cynthia, 
you’re wanted ! ” 

It was Gay’s voice. The girl started forward, but 
he put a detaining hand on her arm. 

“Hush!” he said. “Let him be — let him call.” 

“ I must go,” she murmured. “ We ought not to 
have come so far away. They are waiting.” 

“ Lady Cynthia ! ” called Gay, breaking through the 
wood. 

He advanced in their direction. “ I’m sure I 
saw some figures through the branches I ” he cried 
back to some one on the border of the glade. “ Lady 
Cynthia!” 

She moved uneasily; the moonlight was full on her 
as she stood in the path. Bannatyne’s hand closed more 
firmly on her arm, and she was drawn back into the 
shadow, where she stayed unresisting. She did not 
speak, or look at him. Gay approached, calling. It 
would have been impossible to answer now, and she 
saw it. Gay passed within a few feet of them up the 
path, and she shrank closer to her companion. The 
blunder of not replying to the call at once had con- 
293 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


founded her. Her heart beat fast. Bannatyne pulled 
her nearer; she was in the deep shadow, and his arm 
was about her. Gay passed slowly upward, and his figure 
faded between the tree stems and finally disappeared be- 
hind a bank of yews. Lady Cynthia stirred, and ex- 
tricated herself from the reluctant arm. 

'' Why did you do that ? Oh, why ? ” she said in a 
troubled voice. 

For answer he stooped under the tumultuous swirl 
of his passion, and, picking up the soft hem of her 
raiment, put it to his lips. She drew away, with in- 
creasing agitation. 

'‘What are you doing?” she cried in distress. 

Bannatyne was almost as agitated as she; his hands 
trembled as he put them out to seize hers. 

“ No, no ! ” she cried, and started away very quickly. 
“ I must go. It is late. Let me go.” She began to run 
fast along the pathway toward the glade, flashing in and 
out of the moonlight as she sped. Bannatyne hesitated 
a moment and then darted after her. She ran fast, as 
fast as that Daphne of whom he had spoken lightly to 
the three girls that afternoon, and behind he followed 
eagerly, ardently, with the pulse of his passion leaping 
in him. 

She gained the open, without casting back a glance, 
and suddenly he came to a stop. She was not six 
paces in front of him, and she was still hurrying, now 
with stumbling feet and breathlessly among the bracken. 
Bannatyne stood stock still, breathing deeply from the 
emotions that filled him. He watched her go. 

294 


Well Met hy Moonlight 


“ I couldn’t help it,” he murmured, ‘‘ I couldn’t help 
it. But it was brutal. She did not know. What does 
she know ? ” He waited some five minutes, and then 
he descended into the glade, and made his way circuit- 
ously to the distant scene of the rehearsal. 


295 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE HANDKERCHIEF 

Hancock was in a lively humor at supper, a tran- 
sitory meal, at which the guests appeared only if they 
felt disposed. Some made pretense of eating, some 
really ate, and others abstained altogether. Hancock on 
this occasion was manifesting a huge appetite, and his 
example was followed by several others. 

“ It’s hard work,” said he. “ Don’t apologize for 
those meringues, Miss Arden. Don’t you know that we 
have done a day’s work in three hours? I know I 
have.” 

“ I’m not going to apologize,” said Miss Arden 
gayly, “ and I’m going to ask for some wine.” 

Sir Edward nodded approval, and Bouverie poured 
out a glass of champagne for her. There were only two 
servants in waiting, for this was considered a most in- 
formal and friendly meal. 

“ Dear me ! dear me ! ” fluttered Lady Coombe’s 
voice down the table, I’m sure it will go all wrong. 
The man trod on my skirts twice to-night, and nearly 
fell over two of my fairies. He’s terribly clumsy.” 

“ Oh, that was Lady Cynthia,” said Walrond ; “ she 
wasn’t looking where she was going, but just marched 
straight on.” 


296 


The Handkerchief 


Where’s Lady Cynthia ? ” asked Lady Coombe, 
glancing round. 

“ I think she’s gone to bed,” said Miss Merrington ; 
“she was very tired.” 

Bannatyne, seated next to Miss Ashcroft, held his 
ears attentive. He crumbled a piece of bread between 
his fingers nervously, but did not eat. He had taken 
two glasses of champagne. 

“ You do not honor us often in this way,” he said 
to his neighbor. 

“ No,” she said. “ I’ve told you my opinion about 
the way we feed. We eat too grossly and too often, but, 
after all, there is the question of company to be con- 
sidered. Now, I am no sleeper; I doze merely, as 
anyone who has had experience of me could testify,” 
she said, looking at him steadily. “ And I prefer light 
company and light slumber at this hour.” 

“ What about light reading ? ” he asked politely. He 
was not, somehow, greatly interested in Miss Ashcroft’s 
habits just then. Indeed, his gaze was restlessly va- 
grant about the table, until he found what he wanted, 
which was Kitty Latham’s face at some distance. Miss 
Ashcroft followed his glance. She did not reply to his 
vague question. 

“A pretty fairy,” she remarked, with a slight in- 
quiry in her voice. 

“ Sweetly pretty,” said he, nodding, and smiled as 
Miss Latham’s glance encountered his. She flushed, and 
turned her head to address Walrond. 

“ By the way,” said Miss Ashcroft abruptly, “ if you 
20 297 


A Midsummer Day's Dream 


would really like to explore the eastern corridor, I dare 
say I could make arrangements for you with the in- 
mates.” 

Explore ! ” he echoed, and then shook his head. 
“ I don’t think I’m good at exploration,” he said. ‘‘ I’m 
a failure. I’ll resign my ambitions. Never shall I meet 
you in those perturbing wilds, with ■ Miss Ashcroft, I 
believe? ’ ” 

“ No ; it certainly was not I,” she said bluntly. It 
was her first direct reference to their midnight en- 
counter, and his quest. He knew she knew, and gazed 
at her doubtfully. 

“ I think I’ve lost all curiosity,” he declared. “ I’ve 
taken your lesson to heart. I’m no longer inquisitive. 
The fact is, I can think of nothing but the play. I’m 
stage-struck.” 

“ Oh, well,” she shrugged her shoulders. “ You add 
inconstancy to inquisitiveness. I might have guessed.” 

“ I don’t know. I will not plead guilty,’^ he said. 

“ ‘ The moon is constant to her course; 

The sun will never fail.* ” 

He pointed through the window. There she sails. 
And yet they talk of the inconstant moon. The fact is, 
one side charges the other invariably with its own vices. 
‘ Men were deceivers ever.’ It is monstrous ! ” 

“ But the accusation of inconstancy is usually brought 
against women,” said Miss Ashcroft dryly. '' How does 
that affect your reasoning? It seems to fix you in a 
cleft stick.” 


298 


The Handkerchief 


Bannatyne pondered. “ Confound Virgil ! I believe 
it does. ‘ Variiim ac mutahile.' Well, why shouldn’t they 
be? After all, it’s only changing your mind on better 
information probably, or experience.” 

It certainly is possible to work up a defense,” 
she agreed. You mustn’t expect to find me hostile 
there.” 

'' Are you one of those who would break an engage- 
ment at the eleventh hour ? ” he asked suddenly. 

Miss Ashcroft pursed up her lips. “ I have never 
been fool enough to make one,” she said. “ But if you 
put it to me theoretically, yes.” 

“ You have sound common sense,” he replied. “ I 
always valued your opinions.” 

She looked at him as if she were about to say some- 
thing, but Lady Coombe’s voice broke in: 

“ Will it be fine, Mr. Bannatyne ? ” she asked im- 
ploringly. 

I will see to it,” he said, shooting a glance at Lord 
Eastwood, who sat beside him. 

“ Mr. Bouverie says the glass is falling,” she said 
piteously. 

I didn’t quite say the glass was falling,” hedged 
Bouverie. I said that the glass had fallen. You will 
observe there is a distinct difference between the two. 
The glass may now be going up.” 

'' I do so hope it will be fine,” said the hostess, gath- 
ering sympathetic eyes in her course. “ It would be so 
dreadful if we didn’t get a decent sum for the Cottage 
Hospital. We reckoned on quite one hundred pounds.” 

299 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


“The performance will cost twice that/’ murmured 
Hancock in Bouverie’s ear. 

“ If I made more I think I would give the balance 
to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children,” 
continued Lady Coombe. “ I have such a great belief in 
that society.” 

“ Why not split the takings between them ? ” sug- 
gested her husband. 

“ I do want the Cottage Hospital to get one hundred 
pounds,” she objected. 

“ I suggest we start a guarantee fund, then,” said 
Bouverie. “ Who will guarantee a tenner ? ” 

“ Oh, ril guarantee the hundred pounds,” said Sir 
Edward smilingly. “ If it’s wet, it will cost me a new 
hunter, I suppose.” 

“ Oh, then that knocks the bottom out of our sport,” 
said Bouverie plaintively. “ Well, you can have the 
guarantee all to yourself, Coombe. I call upon volun- 
teers to make up a sum as free gift over and above for 
the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Children. Come 
along now.” 

“ Make it fivers,” suggested Hancock, “ and we’ll all 
go in.” 

“ I will do nothing of the sort,” said Bouverie, now 
possessed with an idea, and rising to his feet. “ I’ll put 
up something, and you shall bid for it, and all bids 
will be converted into cash after the sale. It’s a new 
way of auctioneering Pve just invented.” 

“You mean we must all pay?” asked Hancock. 

“ Of course. What you bid you stand by. Now, 
300 


The Handkerchiej 


then, give me a start. Shall I say five pounds, Mr. 
Gay?’^ 

I should like to know what we’re bidding for,” 
said Gay’s high voice. 

“ Oh, anything,” said Bouverie indifferently. “ I 
have a fountain pen.” His eyes wandered. “ No, let 
me have that handkerchief. Miss Latham, will you, 
please ? ” He dexterously snatched it from her hands 
as he spoke, and dangled a pretty square of lace before 
the table. 

“ Oh, but it’s not mine ! that’s Lady Cynthia’s,” pro- 
tested Kitty. 

“ Is it ? Well, she won’t mind,” said Bouverie. 
“ Yes, I see there’s ‘ C. D.’ in the corner. It’s of no con- 
sequence. Now, then, Mr. Gay.” 

“ Five pounds,” said that young man, and explained, 
in an undertone, to Atherton that he had not a red cent 
left. 

Five pounds ! ” said Bouverie, looking about him 
with an inviting, watchful eye. Five pounds only for 
this work of art — five pounds only for the noble object 
of preventing children from suffering. Any advance on 
five pounds, Mr. Atherton?” 

“ Oh, yes, a fiver,” said he. 

“ You don’t seem to understand, gentlemen,” said 
Bouverie, with a sigh of exasperation, dropping the 
spoon he had taken up to do duty as a hammer. “ This 
is an auction, only a peculiar kind of auction. There- 
fore, because it’s an auction, each bid to be taken must 
be higher than the preceding bid; and because it is 
301 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


peculiar, we keep each bid. Now, then, we will mount 
by sovereigns.” 

“ Six,” said Atherton. 

Thank you, sir. I knew I was not mistaken, and 
that this valuable object would not be allowed to go for 
a paltry five pounds. Mr. Hancock, will you kindly make 
a note of the proceedings, as we shall have to collect the 
money subsequently ? Mr. Gay, five ; Mr. Atherton, six. 
Going, at six ; going, at six. Any advance on six ? ” 

Seven,” called out Mrs. Battye. 

Thank you, seven. Any advance upon seven ? Well, 
ladies and gentlemen, this is ridiculous! Have you got 
that seven, Hancock ? I say this is supremely ridiculous ! 
It makes my position absurd. It is positively throwing 
the handkerchief away. Seven pounds only. Any ad- 
vance on seven? Going, at seven pounds. I may say 
frankly that there is a reserve price on it, which has not 
yet been reached. Going, at seven. Thank you, Madg- 
wick, eight. Eight are offered ; I am offered eight. Any 
advance on eight pounds? Going, at eight.” 

“ Nine,” called out Walrond. 

“ Nine — nine pounds bid. And a valuable handker- 
chief like this, embroidered, finest Honiton lace, initialed 
in one corner. Nine pounds only. Eh? what? ” he said 
to Hancock, and stooped. Gentlemen, here’s my clerk, 
a poor, hard-working auctioneer’s clerk, who’s moved by 
the ridiculous lowness of the bidding to bid himself. He 
offers ten. Ten I’m bid — ten. Now, don’t forget that 
bid, Hancock. Ten I’m bid.” 

Bannatyne sat with his eyes on the speaker, a little 
302 


The Handkerchief 


smile of appreciation in his eyes, and he exchanged a 
word now and then with Miss Ashcroft. 

‘‘ This, I think, is where I must come in,” she said 
in an undertone, and nodded emphatically. 

'' Miss Ashcroft, eleven,” said Bouverie. Thank 
you.” 

Bannatyne’s* smile grew ; the light danced in his face. 
He had made up his mind to wait and come in at the 
end victoriously. He was a little excited. Ferris and 
others took the bidding up to fifteen, and Bouverie an- 
nounced solemnly at sixteen pounds that the reserve had 
been reached. 

“ That’s me,” he explained informally and amid 
laughter. 

Lord Eastwood had not yet bid, and the auctioneer 
looked toward him. 

I regret to find,” he said solemnly, “ that in this 
room there are apparently two people so dead to the 
sense of charity and the value of this pocket handker- 
chief as not to have hazarded a single bid yet. It is 
disgraceful. I will not name names, but I content my- 
self with the general observation. Sixteen pounds.” 

Seventeen,” said Lord Eastwood, smiling. 

''Eighteen,” said Bannatyne softly. 

" Thank you, gentlemen. Now we’re getting on. 
Anyone else? Going, at eighteen pounds. Any advance 
on eighteen? Going, at eighteen.” 

Bouverie raised his spoon perfunctorily, for, as he 
had worked through all the company, he looked upon 
his task as over. 


303 


A Midsummer Day's Dream 


'' Going — going ” 

“ Nineteen,” said Lord Eastwood suddenly. 

Bouverie glanced toward him. “ Oh, very well,” said 
he. “ Nineteen good, nineteen offered.” 

“ Twenty,” said Bannatyne in his pleasantly musical 
voice. 

Thank you, sir — twenty,” said the auctioneer. 

The interest in the room tightened in a jerk, and 
eyes were directed at the two men, who sat at remote 
ends of the table. 

'' A superexcellent article of vertu,” said Bouverie, 
guaranteed and highly recommended. Gentlemen, this 
is, if I may say so, ridiculous ! Only twenty pounds Tm 
offered for this priceless object — only twenty pounds.” 

“ Twenty-one,” said Lord Eastwood, opening his 
somewhat heavy jaw. 

“ Twenty-two,” said his adversary lightly. 

Eastwood nodded again, “Twenty-three”; and Ban- 
natyne responded with “Twenty-four”; and Eastwood 
replied with “ Twenty-five.” 

“ Gentlemen,” said Bouverie cheerfully, “ all these 
sums will be added together into a total, which total 
will represent the full sum of your bid.” 

He paused, glancing at them. Eastwood cast an eye 
toward Bannatyne, and the two men nodded at the 
auctioneer. 

“ Very well, then,” said the latter, “ I’m offered 
twenty-five. Hancock, note these bids, please. Any ad- 
vance on five-and-twenty ? ” 

The interest deepened, and people concentrated their 

304 


The Handkerchiej 


attention on the contending bidders. A suspicion that 
this contest was more significant than appeared on the 
surface, passed from face to face. Ferris elevated his 
eyebrows at Hancock across the table, and Atherton 
winked at one of his friends. Miss Arden looked on 
with polite interest, and Kitty Latham’s face betrayed 
her excitement, which was only equaled by Chloe’s. 
Miss Ashcroft watched the scene with eyes that missed 
nothing. 

Twenty-six.” 

Twenty-seven.” 

'' Twenty-eight.” 

Twenty-nine.” 

“ Thirty.” 

At thirty the game was with Bannatyne, and a slight 
pause ensued, while Bouverie continued to extol the 
merits of the handkerchief. 

“ What’s the total now ? ” asked Eastwood presently. 

I think we might know that.” 

Bouverie looked down at Hancock’s pocketbook. 
“How much is it?” he asked. His “clerk” rapidly 
added up some figures : 

“ Lord Eastwood, a hundred and sixty-one pounds ; 
Bannatyne, a hundred and sixty-eight,” he said. 

“ I would suggest we have the lump sum declared, 
then,” said Lord Eastwood ; “ then we shall know better 
where we are.” 

“ You mean, the bidding is with Bannatyne at a hun- 
dred and sixty-eight pounds,” said Bouverie. “Yes, 
it will be more convenient, as we shall all know then 

305 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


how much this excellent charity will be benefited. And 
we’ll rise — ” He hesitated, looking from one to the 
other. 

“ By twenties,” said Bannatyne. 

Bouverie’s face inquired of the other man. “ Yes,” 
he said curtly. '‘Then I am bid a hundred and sixty- 
eight pounds for this lovely article,” said Bouverie in 
his stolid way. 

Eastwood nodded. " Thank you — one hundred and 
eighty-eight; I am bid only one hundred and eighty- 
eight. Gentlemen, this ought to have been the reserve 
price. Thank you.” He caught Bannatyne’s nod. 
" Two hundred and eight.” 

The bidding ran up furiously now, Bannatyne hesi- 
tating not a moment in his challenge, and Eastwood 
slowly and doggedly returning his fire. It reached three 
hundred and forty-eight, and the undersecretary paused 
momentarily. He looked reflectively at Bouverie, who 
stood with uplifted spoon inquiringly. 

“ Three hundred and forty-eight ! Why, it’s giving 
it away,” said the auctioneer. 

Eastwood nodded. He was beginning to get an- 
noyed, and he hated a scene. This seemed to be turn- 
ing into a scene, which threatened to compromise his 
dignity. He shot an embarrassed smile at Lady Coombe, 
and looked back at the imaginary rostrum to find that 
his rival had bidden " three hundred and sixty-eight.” 

He nodded again shortly, and his discomposure grew. 
As for Bannatyne, he sat, his elbow on the table, with 
his eyes dancing lightly between Bouverie and Miss Ash- 
306 


The Handkerchiej 

croft, who sat on one side of him, or some other member 
of the company, Kitty Latham across the way, or Chloe 
with the parted lips, who stared at him joyously. 

How sweet it is to stand upon the bank and 
watch the swimmer drown ! ’ as Lucretius says,” he mur- 
mured to Miss Ashcroft. I know you’re quite excited ; 
your heart’s beating. Lord Eastwood and I are butchered 
to make a house party’s holiday.” He nodded at Bou- 
verie just in time. 

Four hundred and eight,” announced the auctioneer. 

“ Is that exactly why you’re bidding ? ” asked Miss 
Ashcroft, piercing him with her gray eyes. 

“ Incidentally,” he said. But, of course, there is no 
charity so richly deserving of support as that of the 
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children.” 

“ Four hundred and forty-eight,” Bouverie called. 

There was again a pause. Excitement was at its 
height. Bannatyne chatted lightly. 

You see, I won a bet. I have a friend who knows 
about horses, or says he does, because he owns them, I 
suppose — which is an extraordinary presumption. And 
he told me that he had a horse which would win the 
Jubilee, or something, and advised me to back it. In 
order to feel what it was like to back a horse, I did — 
at least I thought I did. I forgot the name of his 
horse, but I remembered it began with a ‘ G ’ ; and as 
there was only one horse in the race which began with 
a ‘ G,’ I backed that. The Gee won, if I may put it 
in that way, but it wasn’t my friend’s horse. That’s what 
I call showing judgment.” 


307 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


“ Four hundred and sixty-eight/’ declared Bouverie, 
who had spent more time rehearsing the points of the 
handkerchief. 

“ Four eighty-eight,” he announced the next moment. 

“ So I feel bound to spend my ill-gotten gains on a 
deserving object,” continued Bannatyne, as if nothing 
had happened. 

Lord Eastwood made a turn away. He shrugged 
his shoulders. The affair had deteriorated into a scene, 
and he was furious. But his face showed nothing; in- 
deed, he gave a little indifferent laugh as he moved 
away, shaking his head at Bouverie’s invitation. 

“ Gone, at four hundred and eighty-eight — Mr. Ban- 
natyne,” said Bouverie in formal auctioneer manner. 

“ As my ‘ G ’ turned out to be an outsider, I won 
five hundred pounds,” continued Bannatyne, without a 
change of his expression, and without looking up from 
his talk with Miss Ashcroft. “ So Fve got twelve 
pounds left for emergencies. Do you know of any 
worthy object?” 

'‘Yes,” said the lady quickly, “I think I do; Fll 
turn it over in my mind and let you know later. While 
you’re in this mood I had better take advantage of it.” 

She smiled on him as she rose, and he rose too. The 
excitement had subsided somewhat, and people were leav- 
ing the supper table, no doubt to discuss the auction and 
its significance. 

“This belongs to you, I believe, Bannatyne,” said 
Bouverie, with immovable face, as he held out the 
handkerchief. 


308 


The Handkerchiej 


Bannatyne took it and put it in his pocket, and turned 
to receive Lady Coombe’s excited thanks. 

“ How awfully nice of you and Lord Eastwood ! It 
really was splendid! And now I can send a check to 
the society, and help the Cottage Hospital too.” 

'' Somewhere about a thousand. Lady Coombe,” said 
Bouverie, after a consultation with Hancock. “ But now 
we’ll have to raise the cash. The auctioneer receives the 
money, I believe, according to the rule of the trade, 
commission ten per cent. I’ll post a notice to that effect 
at once.” 

Bannatyne, issuing from the room, met Miss Latham. 
He took out the handkerchief. 

“ As this is not yours. Miss Kitty,” he said, “ I will 
not offer to return it to you. I understand that it be- 
longs to Lady Cynthia. I will give myself the pleasure 
of restoring it personally.” 

“ Oh, but I’m sure Lady Cynthia wouldn’t take it 
now,” said Kitty, smiling. “ You bought it.” 

He shook his head. '' I bought it, with my eyes 
open, from a receiver of stolen goods,” he said. 

'' Oh, I’m so glad you won from Lord Eastwood ! 
It was splendid ! ” declared Chloe Merrington, almost 
dashing into him in her excitement. 

'' I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” he laughed back as 
he went. He was not going to the smoking room; 
he was going to bed. I enjoyed it myself,” he said 
cheerfully. 

When he had got as far as the library. Miss Ash- 
croft came out by the door and joined him. 

309 


A Midsummer Day's Dream 


'' Tve been getting something to send me to sleep/’ 
she said. ‘‘ I find that a regular course of classical fiction 
is the most successful treatment. Scott I have been 
through twice, and I’m halfway through ‘ Clarissa ’ 
now.” 

“ ‘ Clarissa ’ bores me,” he said indifferently. 

“ ‘ Clarissa ’ bores me,” she returned, “ which is pre- 
cisely why I take her up to bed with me.” 

“ If I wanted sleep I don’t think I should take her 
to bed with, me,” he said. “ She annoys me. Scott’s a 
good bed book. So is Boswell; you can pick him up 
and read him anywhere, and it does not matter much 
if you leave off or go on. There’s no mental strain in 
Boswell ; he gently titillates — that’s all.” 

‘'As I lie awake a good deal I must have a com- 
panion,” Miss Ashcroft explained. 

“Have you thought of that desirable charity ? ” he 
asked. 

“ I think I have,” she said slowly, “ but I’m not quite 
sure yet. I’ll think over it to-night ; but I fear I should 
want more than twelve pounds. I don’t think it would 
be content with a balance. And it isn’t a charity; it’s 
an investment.” 

“ My dear lady. I’d trust you with a fortune for in- 
vestment,” he averred. 

“ ni think it over, then.” She put out her hand in 
an unwonted friendly way. She was usually abrupt. 
“ Oh, didn’t I promise to tell you who lived in our 
alley? We are quite a miscellany, a varied company 
of both sexes. There is Captain Madgwick, Mr. Gay, 
310 


The Handker chief 


Mr. Atherton, Mrs. Battye, Miss Arden, the two Miss 
Merringtons, and myself.” 

She paused. He looked at her and waited. He knew 
she had not finished her list, for something in her man- 
ner as well as from the fact that her voice had not 
taken on a dropping cadence. She was perceptibly silent ; 
and then, 

“ And, oh, there’s Miss Latham,” she added. 

Bannatyne bowed. “ Thank you so much for the in- 
formation,” he said ; I shall sleep more peacefully for 
it. You have laid the ghost that haunted me, incidentally 
also the somnambulist who haunted you. Good night, 
and many thanks. Ah ! ” he stooped and picked up the 
volume of “ Clarissa ” she had dropped. 

“ Thank you,” she said as he returned it. You don’t 
repent the extravagance this evening ? ” she asked. 

“ Extravagance ! ” he echoed. “ Pray, what extrava- 
gance? I can recall none.” 

“ No,” she mused, “ not necessarily extravagance, 
save to outward seeming. We pay least when we pay 
most, and a handkerchief may be worth a large sum 
in the end.” 

I’m sure this one is well worth it,” he declared. 

He took it out of his pocket and gravely held it up 
for her inspection. If you have any knowledge of these 
things,” he said, ‘'you will at once recognize that the 
delicate work, the ” 

Miss Ashcroft suddenly seized hold of one corner 
and pulled it toward her sharply — so sharply that it 
left his fingers. 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


“ What is this ? ” she said brusquely. 

She was gazing at the initials — C. D. 

Bannatyne answered nothing, but looked at her un- 
blinkingly. Of course, that is part of the value,’^ he 
said at last ; “ that explains the price.” 

She returned it. “ Oh ! ” she said shortly. “ I 

thought — I didn’t know ” 

She gave him good night abruptly, and strode off 
without finishing her sentence. 


312 


CHAPTER XIX 


A FOOL, A FOOL ! I MET A FOOL l’ THE FOREST 

An unusual excitement prevailed at the moving feast 
of breakfast. Lady Coombe fluttered about in a state of 
almost hysterical agitation; she called people by their 
wrong names, helped herself to things which in ordinary 
circumstances she would not eat, and generally con- 
ducted herself as one whose mind was absent, torn by 
important affairs. Most of the house party were simi- 
larly affected, to a less degree, for on everyone it was 
borne in that this great day had come at last. The per- 
formance was fixed for seven o’clock, in Titania’s Glade. 

Lady Coombe was relieved of her fears when her 
maid pulled the curtains in the morning. The sun 
shone brightly, and searched the room with his warm 
rays. A few patches of white fleece were scattered in 
heaven ; the very air hummed and throbbed with the ap- 
proaching heat. 

To the general unrest Miss Ashcroft contributed noth- 
ing, less even than Bouverie, whose appetite and whose 
leisurely movements were not at all disturbed by his 
surroundings. These two sat together and discussed not 
the pastoral play, but the charms of single blessedness. 

It’s so satisfactory to be able to smoke a pipe any- 
where in one’s rooms at any time,” he said. 

313 


21 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


“ And so delightful to be able to drink tea anywhere 
in the same place at any time,” she said. 

“Buns?” he asked. She shook her head deci- 
sively. “ I thought buns and pastry always went with 
tea.” 

“ That’s married women,” she snapped. “ The fools 
don’t know how to take care of their digestions. I do. 
I eat little, but I’m a gourmet.” 

“ We can shake hands on that ; so am I,” said 
Bouverie. 

“ All sensible people are,” she retorted, “ and there- 
fore all unmarried people. As we’ve nothing else to 
consider, we consider our stomachs, while other poor 
creatures are taken up with unnecessary emotions and 
bad food.” 

“You are a misanthrope; I am a misogynist,” said 
Bouverie, nodding In assent. 

“ No ; I don’t know that I hate man,” said Miss 
Ashcroft meditatively ; “ I despise him.” 

“ Yes, I think that’s about my attitude to women, 
too,” he agreed. “ I have an amused contempt for them. 
Fancy being taken in by beauty ! Ridiculous ! ” 

“ Or wit ! ” she said. “ Absurd ! ” 

“ It’s all very well for boys, of course,” he went on ; 
“ they are easily captivated, poor beggars. A faint blush, 
a rosebud mouth, blue eyes, corn-yellow hair, the turn 
of an arm — anything does for them.” 

“ Girls, too,” said Miss Ashcroft. “ They will trem- 
ble into what they preposterously call love, but what 
merely arises from a bad digestion owing to cakes and 

314 


A Fool, a Fool /’ I Met a Fool the Forest 


pastry, with pitiful delight. It makes one ashamed of 
one’s sex; it’s humiliating.” 

''The state of affairs prevailing here, for example,” 
took up Bouverie, " is simply disgraceful.” 

"Here?” she said, eying him. 

He shrugged his shoulders, and watched Miss Arden 
as she entered, coolly graceful. Miss Ashcroft followed 
his eyes. 

"Yes,” she said. "I believe you’re right. House 
parties should be discouraged.” 

" Their influence for ill is trebled when you have a 
play on,” he said gloomily. " Hardly a man will come 
out of it unwinged.” 

" And scarcely a woman,” she added. 

" Except, of course, you and me,” he said. 

" Yes, we must make that reservation,” she assented. 

" And there’s one of them peppered all over,” said 
Bouverie. 

" Ah,” said Miss Ashcroft, " I think I know him.” 

" I didn’t say him,” he declared. 

" Oh, well, I do,” she retorted. " I’m not afraid. Be- 
sides, women don’t do these things — except, perhaps, 
girls with actors.” 

" We are actors,” he reminded her. 

" He is,” she said shortly, and then : " I don’t believe 
he’s riddled at all. His hide’s impervious — it’s arrow- 
proof — it’s gutta-percha.” 

Bouverie looked doubtful. "Well, they produce a 
sense of irritation, at any rate,” he said ; " a sore feel- 
ing, and there are always cracks in the armor joints.” 

315 


A Midsummer Day's Dream 


‘‘ Humph ! ” said Miss Ashcroft as she rose. You 
saw that ridiculous scene last night 

“ My dear lady, I presided at it. It was my star 
part.” 

“ Oberon was not very successful in his interferences 
with mortal love affairs,” she said. 

“ Oh, he didn’t come out badly,” he called after her. 

When Miss Ashcroft got outside, Kitty Latham and 
Lady Cynthia were arm in arm on the big lawn between 
the cedars. They clung affectionately to each other, and 
the older woman stood to watch them. Then with an 
odd expression on her face she moved toward them, and 
called : 

Miss Latham ! ” 

Kitty turned, withdrew her arm from her friend’s, 
and obediently went forward. She stood talking with 
Miss Ashcroft for some time, and Lady Cynthia, after 
walking and waiting a little time, grew impatient of being 
alone, and passed into the gardens. 

She was a little pale this morning, for she had had a 
broken night. The incidents in the Wilderness with 
Bannatyne had profoundly disturbed her. She was be- 
wildered by them, and by her sensations. Why had she 
allowed him to put his arm about her and draw her into 
the darkness ? Why had she not replied to Gay ? Above 
all, why had she broken out upon him with those stupid 
words? Her face and neck flushed as she remembered. 
She was hateful to herself, as hateful as he was to her. 
She could have beaten herself for the stupidity of her 
actions. Instead of behaving as any sensible and modest 
316 


A Fooly a Fool / I Met a Fool the Forest 


girl would have behaved in the face of that provocation, 
she had done nothing; she had merely stammered forth 
some silly words and then run away. She ought to have 
turned on him in dignity and fury and have scorched 
him with her scorn ; and before that he would have fallen 
away abashed. But as she pondered these things un- 
easily, her shame and anger grew to remember that she 
should never have given him the opportunity to take 
such a freedom. She vowed in her soul that she felt 
like any bank-holiday girl, cried out to herself that she 
was contaminated, and wished simultaneously that she 
might meet Bannatyne on that instant, so that she might 
cut him with cold eyes and freeze him with a frosty stare. 

To such thoughts ran her troubled night, and in the 
morning she was little more at ease. She wished no 
longer to encounter and annihilate Bannatyne, merely 
to avoid him; but otherwise her temper remained the 
same, and, being left by Kitty, she became restless, and 
moved away, a prey to vague fears and tremors. 

If Bannatyne should suddenly come out and see her 
she would be alone, and she would have no support. She 
clung to the moral support of Kitty, who had been sum- 
moned away. So fled Lady Cynthia Dane, with a 
tumultuous bosom, into the sunlit gardens. 

Meanwhile Bannatyne had enjoyed no better rest, 
and, waking early, had gone forth to walk in the fresh 
air of the morning. He covered a distance of four 
miles to Thesinger by the field paths, and breakfasted 
there heartily at the inn. Then in a better mood he 
returned, stalking through the flowing corn, and by the 

317 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


copses in which the birds were now growing more 
silent day by day. When he got back the party was 
much scattered, but Lady Coombe was anxious to con- 
sult him on some point connected with the performance. 

Bouverie had disappeared, some of the others were 
motoring, while others were fishing. Some of the 
ladies were busily engaged in amending the costumes 
in which certain defects were thought to be discerned. 
Lord Eastwood had gone out with his host to inspect 
the allotments. 

Bannatyne, thrown on his own resources, started on 
a further walk. He was not in a mood for company, 
for he had his own thoughts to challenge him, and if 
they were not friendly thoughts at least they kept him 
occupied. He looked wistfully about the gardens as 
he left, in the faint hope that his eyes might alight on 
a well-remembered figure; but he saw no one, and, 
leaving the park, he struck up the steep chalk lane for 
the downs. 

The lane was no more than a deep sunken gutter, 
of considerable width, which in the winter was a veri- 
table water course. It was overhung with great trees 
that leaned slantwise from the banks, beech and oak 
and elm, and presently ran among yew trees dark and 
somber, through the thick foliage of which no sunshine 
penetrated; to that succeeded tall pines, with an under- 
growth of hazel bushes; and at last the level of the 
rounded summit, stretching east and west, sown with a 
ragged forest and interspersed with holly and bramble 
and gorse and the wild-growing bracken. Bannatyne 

318 


A Fool, a Fool 1 I Met a Fool the Forest 


walked on in a meditation which was bitter-sweet. Now 
that the morning was come, and the exaltation of the 
night was gone, he looked back with some scorn on his 
own folly. He had made an absurd figure of himself 
at the auction, and had possibly given occasion for tittle- 
tattle to the light tongues of the house party. It was 
true that most of the company were in ignorance that 
the handkerchief had been Lady Cynthia’s, for Kitty 
Latham’s cry had not gone beyond her immediate neigh- 
borhood. Even Miss Ashcroft had not known. But 
there remained in the situation enough awkwardness 
to give him a distaste for it. In general he would have 
embarked with idle conscience and a certain malicious 
joy on such an enterprise. He was far from feeling 
satisfaction, or even indifference, now. He had been 
a fool — a fool, to have allowed himself to stray into 
this attitude toward a girl, and doubly a fool to have 
advertised his sentiment so openly. 

Yet, now he reflected on her, he could not brook that 
allegation of folly. Cynthia was divine; she moved in 
her beauty like a spirit of fire, and he thrilled to recall 
how he had held her in his arms and she had not 
struggled. At least she had barely struggled, no doubt 
taken by surprise. He wondered with what feelings she 
regarded him. He was afraid to meet her, which was 
why he had absented himself from the breakfast table. 
He had put her to the blush, and would deserve all the 
retaliation she might choose to make. 

LFnder a vast cathedral of beeches struck to gold by 
the summer sun, he halted, and listened to the last 

319 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


choir of song birds. In a few days they would lapse 
into the long silence of midsummer, only to awaken with 
the turn of the year. As he stood, a prey to conflict- 
ing feelings of doubt, remorse, shame, and desire, his 
thoughts drifted to Kitty Latham. The surprise which 
he would otherwise have experienced at Miss Ashcroft’s 
revelation had fallen on senses blunted by the stress of 
emotions. Yet he now recalled that the quest on which 
he had persuaded himself he was so set, and which he 
had pursued with the ardor of light-heartedness, was 
at an end. It was Kitty Latham whom he had encoun- 
tered in the Wilderness, and Kitty Latham was his Dryad 
whom he had been so anxious to run to earth. 

Sylvia Latham’s daughter! His thoughts went back 
over fifteen years and hovered there reluctantly. Now he 
inspected his heart in a new light, he was disposed not 
to underestimate that old passion of his boyhood, but 
to assign it its value in another sphere. Sylvia Latham 
had been to him a divinity, at whose feet he knelt. He 
could kneel now, at five-and-thirty, and in all his ma- 
turity and knowledge, at the feet of no goddess; it 
was something else than that spiritual rapture that 
he craved. He was enchained in the beauty of a 
woman, and it was as a man that he yearned to dominate 
her. 

The ancient beech before which he paused reared 
itself stanchly like a vast pillar in a nave. Its smooth 
stem disappeared lightly among gold-green leafage far 
above. On some of the neighboring trees the youths 
of the village had carved initials in their Sunday after- 
320 


A Fool, a Fool ! I Met a Fool i’ the Forest 


noon strolls, and Bannatyne, under the influence of a 
lovelorn whimsey, took out his knife, opened it, and began 
to trace letters deeply in the bark. His meditations con- 
tinued as he worked, and his hand moved almost me- 
chanically; and so rapt was he in his brown study that 
he was not aware of the approach of feet along the 
grassway, nor did he know that he was no longer alone 
until a voice struck on his ear, startling him. 

A pretty pastime, Mr. Bannatyne — quite idyllic ! ” 

He turned, and saw Miss Grant-Summers, who was 
regarding him with an enigmatic smile on her face. He 
stood back a foot from his work and surveyed it. 

Yes, it isn’t bad at all,” he said with nonchalance. 

Miss Grant-Summers glanced at the neighboring 
beeches. 

“ This is where the village lovers declare themselves, 
isn’t it ? ” she said. They celebrate their wenches on 
the trees, twine arms together, and talk ‘baby lan- 
guage.’ ” Her accent notified her scorn, but she still 
smiled. 

Bannatyne, at his second glance, discovered that 
Captain Madgwick was now standing by her. He caught 
the sound of distant voices, too, from which he judged 
that others of a party were approaching. 

“ Is that so ? ” he added. “ I have no knowledge of 
the matter you mention, but I am quite willing to believe 
it. These rustic lovers are good and faithful swains. 
This would seem to be their promenade, unless,” he 
added, “ it is little boys from school.” 

“Oh, dear, no,” said Miss Grant-Summers, shaking 
321 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


her head emphatically. “ This is the gallery of Venus 
— isn’t it, Captain Madgwick? What lad ever carved 
that heart, or that true-lover’s knot? No, this is 
where lovers sigh and vow. You are committed, Mr. 
Bannatyne.” 

She gazed at him, maliciously handsome, and he 
realized that there was intention in her talk. He stood 
between her and the beech on which he had been grav- 
ing a moment before. Suddenly she moved forward 
and past him. “ Mr. Bannatyne has set us a puzzle, 
Captain Madgwick,” she called lightly. We must all 
take to guessing. What ever can P and C mean? Or 
is it P and O? That’s a familiar sound — something to 
do with ships.” 

Bannatyne’s fingers were clutched into the palm of 
his hand for an instant nervously, and then he slowly 
closed his knife. In his folly he had carved out two 
initials, the initials of two names. Madgwick twisted 
up his mustache in an appearance of deep thought. 

'' Police constable,” he suggested. 

Oh, how unromantic ! ” said Miss Grant-Summers. 
“ I’d sooner believe it was P and O. Mr. Lock, Mr. 
Gay, Lady Cynthia, can you guess this ? ” 

Bannatyne swept swiftly about, and his gaze fell on 
three newcomers who were advancing toward them. His 
eyebrows went down momentarily in a little frown. Gay 
put up his eyeglass. 

“ P C,” he said. ‘‘ It’s probably some village idiot 
been inscribing his sweetheart’s initials.” 

“ Really ! ” said Miss Grant-Summers pleasantly. 

322 


A Fool, a Fool I I Met a Fool the Forest 


'' Penelope something,” suggested Madgwick, or 
Prudence.” 

I should say Patty,” said Gay, “ or Polly. That’s 
the sort of names they have.” 

“ On the contrary,” said Miss Grant- Summers, “ it’s 
the sort of name they haven’t. They fly high in these 
days. Patricia would be more like it, or Perdita. What 
do you say. Lady Cynthia ? ” 

Lady Cynthia stood a little behind, and smiled faintly 
on being addressed. She looked rather pale in her white 
gown. 

Perhaps it isn’t a woman’s name at all,” she sug- 
gested. “ It might be a man’s.” 

“ Why, of course ! ” said Miss Grant-Summers. '' We 
never thought of that, did we? It probably is a man’s. 
PC?” She looked about them. “ There are a good 
many men’s names beginning with P.” 

Paul,” said Mr. Lock indifferently. 

Peter,” said Gay. Mr. Bouverie’s Peter.” 

‘'Oh, surely you wouldn’t accuse Mr. Bouverie of 
having written up his name here ! ” said Miss Grant- 
Summers reproachfully. “ Besides, it’s C, not B.” 

“ There’s Philip,” said Captain Madgwick. 

“ Philip, of course ; and C might stand for anything 
— mightn’t it ? ” said Miss Grant-Summers sweetly. “ It 
might even stand for the girl’s name. Caroline, Cissy, 
Charlotte, Celia. Do tell us, Mr. Bannatyne.” 

Her appeal to him was unexpected. Only she and 
Madgwick were aware that the initials were his work 
until that moment; and the two young men and Lady 

323 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


Cynthia shot at him a glance of interest. The idle 
problem assumed at once a personal, an individual 
interest. 

The intention of Miss Grant- Summers was patent to 
Bannatyne. He pulled his knife from his pocket coolly. 

It shows how deeply human nature can err,” he 
said ; “ also, incidentally, the value of deductions.” He 
stooped to the tree, knife in hand. 

“ Oh, do let us guess before you finish it ! ” said 
Miss Grant-Summers. P for Philip and C for — ” She 
paused, as if searching in her mind for a name, and 
her eyes, slewing slowly round, lighted on Lady Cyn- 
thia, who caught the look. Instantly in the pallor of 
her face emerged a pink blush. Bannatyne, with a 
sweep of his hand, stood back. 

“ Behold ! ” he said scornfully ; and where the P had 
been was now a B. He bent again, and in two seconds 
had completed a third letter. 

“ A B C,” said Madgwick. “ Oh, it’s the alphabet.” 

“ The alphabet of love ? ” said Miss Grant-Summers 
with a little hard laugh. She had not expected this 
successful ruse. 

Bannatyne shook his head, surveying his handiwork. 

‘‘ There is no such thing as the alphabet of love,” 
he said. “ It is a jargon without rules or grammar or 
cases or anything horrid. It all goes as softly and as 
easily as a summer day, like this, for instance. It is a 
country where there are no laws, and only anarchy reigns. 
It is a wholly mad country, where people don’t mind 
being confused, and not knowing what they mean. Do 

324 


A Fool, a Fool I I Met a Fool the Forest 


they mean anything? I don’t know. Do you, Miss 
Grant- Summers ? ” 

Miss Grant-Summers hesitated ere she replied. “ Oh, 
yes, they mean much. You must know that, Mr. Ban- 
natyne,” she said at last. “ Their vows cry to Heaven. 
They live under the stars.’’ 

He nodded. ‘‘ Gone mad under the horns of the 
moon,” he said. ''Well, it’s a mad world, my masters; 
isn’t it, Madgwick?” 

" It’s a pretty pleasant world,” said Madgwick, light- 
ing a cigarette. 

Bannatyne looked round. Lady Cynthia had turned, 
and was gazing across the sunlit sea of bracken, so that 
he could not get a glimpse of her face. 

" I can imagine it’s being a mighty pleasant world if 
you got all you wished,” said Bannatyne. " Can’t you. 
Miss Grant-Summers ? ” 

" On the contrary,” observed Mr. Oliver Lock, " it’s 
precisely because of the sharpness of the contrast with 
what one does not get that one enjoys what one gets.” 

" That sounds sense,” said Bannatyne doubtfully, " if 
one could only get at it.” 

" I frankly confess I like what I want,’^ said Miss 
Grant-Summers. 

" I know I always want what I like,” said Banna- 
tyne, " including ” — he stared before him at the hand- 
some Hermia, now no longer hostile, but still challeng- 
ing — " including,” he added, " what is beyond reach.” 

" ' If thy heart fail thee, do not climb at all,’ ” she 
quoted. In a way she was grateful that he had taken 

325 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


her assault so mildly; he evidently bore no animosity, 
and she began to doubt the truth of her assumptions. 

“ No, the feat is impossible for me,” he said, shaking 
his head. “ I shall conclude the grapes are sour.” 

“ All grapes are not,” remarked Gay. '' IVe tasted 
some remarkably fine ones this year.” 

“ Well, I’m going to climb down,” said Miss Grant- 
Summers with a laugh, and moved on determinedly. 

There was a general movement toward her, but Ban- 
natyne saw with the tail of his eye that Lady Cynthia 
and Lock were detaching themselves. 

I’m due for a rehearsal of the song with Mr. Lock,” 
she explained to Miss Grant-Summers. We must go 
down the shortest way.” 

“ It’s perfectly desolating,” remarked Lock. “ I have 
that man Cooper to coach, and he’s got about as much 
notion of an air as a foghorn.” 

Well, good-by,” nodded Miss Grant-Summers cheer- 
fully. '' We’re going along the downs a little,” and, taking 
it for granted that the rest of the company would follow 
her, she walked on. 

Bannatyne trailed in the rear with Gay, who was 
good enough to give him some suggestions as to the 
rendering of Lysander, and he was not at all sorry when 
Miss Grant-Summers at last abruptly made up her mind 
to descend through a copse into the valley. Lady Fal- 
lowfield met them as they entered the house, and nodded 
in a friendly way at Bannatyne, whom she had not 
previously seen that morning. He stayed by her. 

*'I didn’t see you at breakfast.” 

326 


A Fool, a Fool! I Met a Fool V the Forest 


“ I breakfasted four miles away.” 

“ Heavens, what a man of his legs ! ” She shrugged 
her shoulders, which remained one of her beauties. 
“ Was that the effect of the contest?” 

“ Contest ? ” he asked blankly. 

“ Yes, the fight with Lord Eastwood.” 

Oh, that ! ” he cried with indifference. “ Well, I’m 
glad the fund has benefited so much.” 

Lady Fallowfield eyed him amiably, but with curi- 
osity. “ I know you’re a precipitate fellow,” she said ; 
“ but why this recklessness ? ” 

“ Is Lord Eastwood precipitate?” he asked. 

She considered. “ No.” 

“ Then, a fortiori, why this recklessness ? ” He re- 
peated her question. 

Lady Fallowfield’s eyes dwelt on him with that direct 
frankness which was noticeable also in her daughter. 
She smiled. 

“ I don’t think I should like to have married a man 
so frivolous as you,” she said candidly. 

There you are,” said he. ‘‘ Behold me therefore a 
bachelor still.” 

Rubbish ! ” said the countess. You want a harem, 
not a wife.” 

“ Oh, don’t I ? ” he protested. “ Just try me.” 

“ Heaven forbid ! ” she laughed, as she went off. 

“ Oh, Heaven has forbidden,” he threw after her, and 
murmured to himself as he too went. “ Heaven has 
forbidden, and shall forbid. A man may not love the 
mother of his love, though she be the mother of the 

327 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


loves herself, and though his love be cold as ice and 
her eyes as frosty as the northern stars. Good morn- 
ing, Miss Latham.” 

He paused before the girl, who encountered him 
shyly, and with a rising color for which he could not 
account. Then it suddenly flashed upon him that Miss 
Ashcroft had told her that he knew her secret. She met 
him quietly. He wondered if he should refer to the 
matter, but quickly decided that she would thus be 
thrown into greater confusion. It was best to ignore 
everything. After all. Miss Ashcroft had not told him 
in so many words; she had only given him a clew, and 
it might be supposed that he had not been bright enough 
to draw the only conclusion. He smiled at the girl in 
the friendly way he had adopted from the first, but 
without a show of nearer intimacy. 

“ I hope you’ve got your part off by heart,” he said 
with mock earnestness. 

Her laughter sounded. “ Not quite all,” she said, 
entering into the small jest. No, he decided; she could 
not know. There was nothing like guilt in her voice. 
His glance roamed over the pretty face and figure, and 
lighted on a flower at her bosom. It drew his eyes; 
it challenged him. 

It was a Gloire Lyonnaise. 

He could not understand the coincidence. Had Kitty 
Latham adorned herself with this very rose to em- 
phasize Miss Ashcroft’s communication — ^to advertise, as 
it were, the revelation? It could not be. He was as 
sure of Sylvia Latham’s daughter as of himself. It 
328 


A Fooly a Fool I 1 Met a Fool the Forest 


was not in her nature to do what would have seemed 
merely part of the game to a woman like Miss Grant- 
Summers. Yet here was the difficulty. It was Kitty 
Latham’s rose he had found; and now, simultaneously 
with his discovery of that fact, Kitty Latham appeared 
to him wearing the selfsame rose. 

As these thoughts flew through his head he con- 
tinued to gaze at the flower, and the girl followed his 
glance. Instantly her face paled, and she fell into con- 
fusion. 

“Oh, I didn’t — Miss Ashcroft — I — ” She turned 
and fled. 

It was at once all plain to him, and it was in his 
heart to have run after her and to comfort her ; but, being 
a wise man, with an insight into human nature, he did 
not. Kitty had known nothing of his discovery, and it 
was also obvious that she had not known of the rose at 
her bosom, or, at least, had not realized what rose it 
was. As soon as she had done so, and had seen him 
regarding it so strangely, she had retired in confusion, 
thinking herself identified. 

But since it was Miss Ashcroft who had given her 
away, in the colloquial phrase, and since it was Miss 
Ashcroft who had undoubtedly sent her forth to ad- 
vertise herself with the badge of the rose, why had Miss 
Ashcroft done it? For some reason she was anxious 
that he should identify Kitty with his Dryad. But why 
she should be anxious he could not divine. It smacked 
of treachery to the girl. He reflected, as he walked, that 
Miss Ashcroft was eccentric and individual, and that she 

329 


22 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


had possibly some idea of a jest buried beneath her ob- 
scure operations. 

It was high noon by now, and the sun at his zenith 
glowed in a still heaven. There was no breeze to-day 
to mollify his rays, and the valley lay sweltering in the 
heat. The house was silent, and dark with long-drawn 
blinds. The very dogs lay about the stables, panting, or 
heaving in uneasy slumber. A buzzing of flies filled the 
yard as Bannatyne passed through it. He took off his 
loose Panama and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe 
the moisture from his forehead. With his own hand- 
kerchief came out another — that which he had purchased 
by auction on the previous night. He turned the square 
of lace about and gazed at the initial in the corner: 
C. D. Well, it was his, but he did not really know if 
he cared to keep it. Perhaps it had better go back to 
its original owner. 

He replaced it in his pocket with his mind still 
undetermined, and went on his way, sunk in a muse. 
He had a book with him, and he was looking for a 
cool and shady spot in which to lie and read or think, 
as he might feel disposed. He passed by a fringe of 
the heath where the gorse pods were cracking in the 
heat, and where the linnet now was silent, and only the 
song of the yellow-hammer resounded distantly: 

“ Kiss me quick, quick, quick, and go — pie-ease.'^ 

The last note pleaded pitifully, at least timorously, 
for instant departure. It was of stolen kisses that the 
bird sang. 


330 


A Foolj a Fool! I Met a Fool the Forest 


Bannatyne passed under the shadow of the oaks and 
the green larches that were scattered between them, 
and thought he heard the tall silver birches rustling 
overhead. Was it indeed a breeze? He came to a 
stop. 

Yes, a slight wind, so faint as to be inaudible among 
the stouter foliage, came off the heath and whispered 
above; it fanned his face. He took off his hat, and it 
lapped about his face and hair. He turned over the 
pages of the book, preparatory to sitting down, when 
his eye was caught by something white a little way from 
him, under the arch of a beechen bough. 

He went forward softly. Her hat had been thrown 
aside, and her face was resting aslant on a mound of 
grass; her bosom rose gently with each respiration; her 
lips were apart, her eyelids closed. A book lay open a 
few inches from her hand. Lady Cynthia had fallen 
asleep. 

Bannatyne stood gazing down, his own heart beating 
fast. How fair she looked, how sweet! She lay there, 
as untroubled in her slumber as a child; as untroubled, 
he reflected, as in her waking moments, as in her whole 
peaceful life. Her life was one long slumber, and it 
might be she would never awake from it. Would East- 
wood wake her? 

He had the thought, as he stood there, that resigna- 
tion — renunciation — was perhaps the nobler choice in life. 
He remembered that fine phrase of Stevenson’s that 
pain is the choice of the magnanimous,” and he won- 
dered. It might be best to breathe his benison over her 

331 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


dear head and pass; to leave her to the future and the 
destiny mapped out for her. 

But to that succeeded a bitter thought. Who was 
he, to talk of leaving or not leaving? It was not in his 
hands. He was merely a man who had behaved with 
rudeness, and had a handkerchief to restore and an 
apology to offer. 

Her eyelids quivered. Would she wake? The thin 
breeze streamed off the heath and her hair stirred; the 
sweet fullness of her lips was toward him. From close 
at hand rose the yellow-hammer’s song: 

“ Kiss me quick, quick, quick, and go — plea-ease.” 

Bannatyne was a creature of irnpulse always, and he 
had here the greatest of excuses for his impulse. Im- 
passioned, he bent swiftly, surely, and touched her lips 
with his as she lay. She stirred slightly, and quivered. 

“ Kiss me quick, quick, quick, and go-o — ple-ea-ease.” 

The song, long drawn upon the last notes, came to 
him now from afar. He turned swiftly in an access of 
ashamed rapture. He moved fast among the trees, and 
plunged into the secluding wood. 


332 


CHAPTER XX 


CUPID ALL ARM^D 

From his seat in the billiard room Bannatyne watched 
Lord Eastwood disappear into the shrubberies with Lady 
Cynthia. The sun rained heat from wide, bright skies, 
and the door to the garden stood open under an awning. 
Bouverie and Hancock, in their shirt sleeves, made a 
pretense of playing, and Madgfwick and some others 
lounged in the seats and as idly looked on. Lunch was 
not long over, and coffee was set upon a side table. 

“ If we played pyramids,” suggested Bouverie after 
a feeble stroke, more of us could play, and there would 
be longer rests between the turns. I propose we play 
pyramids.” 

“ That’s all very well,” said Hancock, sending home 
the red with a bang, '‘but you’re not winning.” 

Bouverie sat down resignedly. “ Oh, if you’re going 
to make a long break, it will suit me quite as well,” he 
said. “ Call me when he’s finished, will some one ? ” 

Bannatyne gazed at the blank shrubberies, which 
opened not to let back what they had swallowed. Hawk 
and prey had vanished; hound and hind were on the 
hillside. Was not the chase in full swing? The party 
would break up on the following day, and then its 
333 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


various components would be scattered; but ere that, 
Lord Eastwood would have seized his opportunity, and 
Lady Fallowfield would be smilingly claiming congratu- 
lations. 

“ A sure career . . . undersecretary at forty . . . 
with a reversion, of course, later ... in the prime min- 
ister’s confidence . . .” 

He could almost hear the sentences which committed 
to so little and suggested so much, and he could almost 
see Lady Fallowfield’s frank, friendly, and decided gaze 
as it would rest on him speculatively. How like her 
daughter’s, but how unlike ! He had told Lady Cynthia 
that she was Allegra, but he was not sure of it now. 
She wavered between moods so exquisitely poised that 
he dared not classify her. She was simply adorable; he 
could get no further than that, and it sufficed; or it 
would have sufficed had she been adorable for him. 

“If she be not fair for me 
What care I how fair . . .” 

Ah, but he did care; there was the trouble. He saw 
her sleeping under the shade of the trees again, her cheek 
pillowed upon one arm, her pulse moving in her white 
throat ; he heard again the sigh as the flutter went down 
her body; the breath of her life was on his face, as he 
stooped, and . . . 

Bannatyne jumped to his feet, and disturbed a cue 
that leaned against the cushioned band, which rattled to 
the floor. 


334 


Cupid all Arm^d 


“ Confound it, Bannatyne, you spoiled my stroke ! ” 
said Hancock crossly, for he had been absorbed in a 
wonderful break. 

“ And you’ve woke me up, confound you ! ” added 
Bouverie, stirring. ‘'Not out yet, Hancock? Good 
Lord ! ” 

Bannatyne left the room. He was restless, and, de- 
spite the heat, was driven forth by the spirit that dom- 
inated him. Some one called a question at him as he 
went, but it fell on unheeding ears. No one seemed to 
desire to be abroad in this fierce fullness of the sun, for 
not a soul was visible in the house or on the lawns. 
He thought he saw Miss Arden’s face at a window. 
Yet in this heat Lady Cynthia had gone forth — to her 
fate? The association of the two at such a juncture could 
only mean one thing. 

Bannatyne reached the park, a shallow vale of Tempe 
studded with great trees and noble spaces of greensward, 
and lo ! he found he was not alone. Others were abroad 
besides himself and the reputed lovers. On the ground, 
beneath a spreading chestnut tree, sat Lady Merrington, 
fanning herself vigorously, and by her sprawled Gladys, 
with her black legs askew and her terrier pup. 

“ There’s no air in the house,” said the lady as he 
came up. “ Sit down here, Mr. Bannatyne. At least you 
can’t see the sun from here.” 

Bannatyne sat down. “ I can feel it,” he said, and 
the flies. Gladys, dear, if you can leave that bundle 
of fireworks a moment, will you throw me a bracken 
branch? Thank you. If you put one under your hat, 
335 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


Lady Herrington, it keeps the flies away and also adds 
to your appearance/’ 

Lady Herrington looked doubtful. “ I think it would 
make me into a sort of Hsenad,” she said. 

“ Let’s experiment on Gladys, and see,” he sug- 
gested. “ Gladys, child, come here.” Gladys approached 
demurely, but flushed of face and rough of hair, and he 
inserted the bracken under her broad hat, so that it 
depended on three sides about her face. “ I think it’s 
more becoming than cabbage leaves,” he said critically, 
“ but I’m not sure. Now, Lady Herrington, if you have 
any desire — ” He broke off, for the pup had seized his 
trousers and was playing tug-of-war with him. “ I’m 
really not hurting your mistress,” he explained to it. 
” Gladys, please reassure the animal that I’m not offer- 
ing you up in a sacrifice. Those are not my religious 
principles.” He uttered an exclamation as Rip’s teeth 
bit deeper. “ And tell him, too. I’m not good for food — 
Gladys, do! He doesn’t seem to pay any attention to 
my professions. But — you are young yourself. You 
belong to his epoch and tastes. Tell him, for heaven’s 
sake! take him aside and explain.” 

He hopped away with mock gravity, and Gladys 
giggled merrily as she seized the pup in her arms. 

There’s only children and animals could be ener- 
getic a day like this,” remarked Lady Herrington. 

And other animals,” corrected Bannatyne ; “ eh, 
Gladys ? ” 

“ Oh, Hr. Bannatyne,” said she, tittering, “ how 
unkind of you!” 


336 


Cupid all Arm’d 


“ Lady Cynthia Dane’s energy enough,” went on the 
lady pensively. “ She went down the park a quarter 
of an hour ago with Lord Eastwood at a fair pace, 
and a fine couple they looked.” 

“ Oh, indeed ! ” he replied quickly. '' Well, I’ve en- 
ergy too. Lady Merrington, as you shall see. I admit 
it’s partly the dog that puts me on the move; but I’m 
going up yonder fields to pick buttercups. Will you 
come ? ” 

Lady Merrington shook her head. '' There’s a turn- 
stile there I couldn’t get through,” she said. Besides, 
I don’t want to pick buttercups.” 

“ Good-by, then,” said he. “ What, Gladys, you 
coming? That is divine of you; but will you promise 
to muzzle your animal ? ” 

'' He won’t bite when he’s walking,” Gladys assured 
him ; and if he does. I’ll smack him.” 

Thank you so much! Lady Merrington, when we 
find you again, the bower will have grown up about you, 
like the brier-rose princess.” 

“ I didn’t say I was going to sleep,” she returned with 
a smile. 

“ Don’t let us stop you,” he said, as they turned away, 
and, in point of fact, they did not. Lady Merrington’s 
head now drooped on her shoulders, and thus slid gently 
to the sward beneath the chestnut. 

Out in the meadow the puppy barked and growled 
at the strange monsters he encountered. He retired 
trepidantly before a young calf, barked at a passing 
laborer, and then hurled himself fike a shot from a 
337 


A Midsummer Day's Dream 


catapult at his mistress. Gladys caught him as one ac- 
customed to the game, and caressed him. She celebrated 
his prowess and explained his beauty to Bannatyne. 

He really is an awfully good dog, Mr. Bannatyne. 
He’s only eaten two pairs of my stockings and one slip- 
per; at least, he only ate part of one of each pair, you 
know — poor little thing.” 

“ Indeed, poor little thing ! ” said he sympathetically. 

They passed out of the field into a patch of wood 
through which a footpath wandered to a meadow be- 
yond. But at the entrance a second path curled away 
and tucked itself deeper into the wood, ere it swept 
about for the farther meadow. It was a kind of cir- 
cuitous back way. The puppy, on outpost duty in front, 
decided their route, for he took the longer path, and 
they meekly followed. Halfway through, the puppy gave 
vent to a brisk and furious growl, and Gladys cried out : 

“ It’s Lady Cynthia!” 

Bannatyne looked up sharply. It was Lady Cynthia 
for certain, and she was alone. She sat on the bank 
beside the path, and was looking down upon the house 
and park, and she turned on the cry, but did not move. 

We were so hot that we decided to pick butter- 
cups,” said he, “ and then Rip decided that we shouldn’t. 
We are slaves to him. He wanted us successively to 
eat a cow, to bite a man’s leg, and to swallow two bees, 
but we refused. And now he wants us to sit down.” 

“ And so you refuse again,” said Lady Cynthia 
lightly. 

“Oh, no; this time we must give in,” said he, sit- 

338 


Cupid all Armld 


ting down near her. “ We can’t afford to offend him— 
can we, Gladys? Our lives and stockings depend on 
keeping him in a good temper.” 

He had thrown a searching glance at her. Why was 
she alone? What had happened during the last half 
hour ? Lady Cynthia’s face showed signs of agitation ; 
she was pale and restless ; yet her tone was light. It 
seemed as if she was keeping it light of set purpose. 
She did not look at him ; but then, she did not look at 
Gladys either. 

“ He’s a terrible responsibility,” she said. 

“ He is indeed,” agreed Bannatyne, “ especially being 
so delicate. I don’t think I should keep him up too late, 
Gladys. I’m sure it’s near his bedtime.” 

“ I’m sure it isn’t,” said Lady Cynthia quickly. “ The 
walk will do him good.” 

“ He will get morbid,” protested Bannatyne. “ A 
dog robbed of his beauty sleep develops hydrophobia and 
kleptomania and lots of things. Take him to bed, Gladys 
— take him to bed.” 

Don’t,” said Lady Cynthia in her new tone of 
levity. “Let him enjoy himself, poor thing! The time 
will come when he must grow into a serious fox-terrier. 
Let him enjoy himself while he may.” 

“Do you mind his enjoying your lace very much?” 
asked Bannatyne, looking doubtfully at the mischievous 
puppy at her feet. 

Lady Cynthia glanced down at her dress, and cried 
out : “ Oh, the little wretch ! Oh, how horrid ! Please, 
Gladys, take him away ! ” 


339 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


“ Slap him/' suggested Bannatyne. 

Lady Cynthia slapped him ineffectually. The puppy 
accepted it as a jovial invitation to a competition. He 
began his favorite game of tug-of-war with growls. 

“ Oh ! ” cried Lady Cynthia in dismay, and Gladys 
arrived just in time to prevent a tragedy. 

Lady Cynthia had now lost her pallor, and was 
flushed. The incident had improved her spirits, for it 
had been a counter irritant. 

“ I think he’d better go now,” said Bannatyne, who 
had no further use for Gladys at the moment. 

“ Oh, no ; he’s all right,” said Lady Cynthia faintly ; 
and to Gladys, who was rising : “ No, don’t take him 
away. He’ll be quite good. I’m sure.” 

It was clear that Lady Cynthia had some use for 
Gladys, who fell back again with her pup in her arms. 

“ I’m glad he’s not the size of a cow,” observed 
Bannatyne, or he’d eat us. Fancy a wood peopled with 
pups the size of cows. We couldn’t keep them in 
houses then, you know. You’d meet Jones limping, 
with his arm in a sling, and say, ‘ Halloo, my dear fel- 
low ! hurt yourself?’ ‘Yes, the fact is,’ says Jones, 
‘ my pup jumped on my knee the other day.’ Or you’d 
see pretty Miss Brown with her hand bound up. ‘ I’m 
so sorry! What have you done to yourself?’ ‘Oh,’ 
says Miss Brown, ‘ my pup snapped off two fingers last 
night while he was playing with me.’ ” 

“ Oh, don’t ! ” said Lady Cynthia. 

“ Well, these things do happen,” he urged, “ only we 
shut our eyes to them. We are such hypocrites. People 

340 


Cupid all Armld 


lose their fingers and break their arms. I’ll confess I shy 
at bald facts as much as anyone. I’m just as great a 
hypocrite and coward. Why isn’t the world only roman- 
tic ? Why isn’t it only beautiful ? ” 

Gladys was giving most of her attention to Rip. 

Lady Cynthia answered after a pause : I suppose 
there’s design in it.” 

“ There’s nothing left to us but the supposition,” 
he said sadly. “ The old days of fairies were the best ; 
and think, Lady Cynthia, of a world according to the 
mythology of the Greeks. How astonishing ! ” He broke 
off, as a memory came to him, the memory of what he 
had learned from Miss Ashcroft. He darted on impul- 
sively : “ Do you know, I’ve found out — ” Then he 
paused uncertainly. 

Lady Cynthia cast a glance at him. “ What have you 
found out ? ” she asked impersonally. “ Anything of 
great interest ? ” 

“To me, yes,” he said. “ At least I don’t know. It 
would have been once. I may as well finish, as I have 
begun. You remember my idle story of an empty day — 
' The Dryad and the Shoe ’ ? ” 

“ Perfectly,” said she, looking down at the house in 
the strong sun. 

“ Lady Cynthia, I believe he’s getting his new teeth,” 
said Gladys excitedly. 

“ Is he ? ” said Lady Cynthia, but she did not smile. 

“ Well, I’ve found her.” 

“ Really ? How interesting ! ” murmured Lady Cyn- 
thia. 


341 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 

Yes, it came out by accident. It wasn’t my doing,” 
he went on. But now that I’ve succeeded in the quest 
I feel as if I’d been rather foolish about it.” 

“ I certainly don’t see what advantage you gain,” she 
remarked, and her pallor seemed to have returned. 

“ However, I don’t think she knows I know,” he 
confessed. 

Lady Cynthia looked suddenly round at him and then 
away. It was as if she had been startled. 

That is the very best that could happen,” she said 
after a pause. 

“ And as that is my opinion also, there shall it rest,” 
he said lightly. 

“ What’s the time, Mr. Bannatyne ? ” demanded 
Gladys suddenly, scrambling to her feet. 

Nearly four o’clock,” said he, pulling out his watch. 

“ Oh, goodness. I’ve got to meet Miss Grace at four ! ” 
said Gladys remorsefully. Come along. Rip ! Rip ! 
Rip!” 

She ran down the pathway, her charge at her heels, 
and Lady Cynthia saw her protection vanish. Yet she 
still sat on the bank, and Bannatyne sat by in silence. 
There were whispers in the foliage above them. This 
was the first time they had been together, the first time 
they had talked with each other, since the incident of 
the night before. Bannatyne wondered if he should 
refer to it, wondered also if he should beg for pardon. 
The next moment he decided against this course. If she 
recalled it, it would be time enough to acknowledge his 
offense. If she had passed it and condoned it, to sum- 
342 


Cupid all AryvCd 


mon up the ghost of it would be to offend again wan- 
tonly. Suddenly he put his hand in his pocket. 

“ Oh, Lady Cynthia, I have something to restore to 
you,” he said. 

‘'To me?” she asked with faint inquiry in her voice, 
and without looking toward him. 

“ Yes.” He held out the handkerchief. “ This is 
yours, I think.” 

She was forced to look now, but did so trepidantly. 

“ Oh, yes,” she said uneasily, but keeping herself in 
hand. “ You mean last night. But, of course, it’s yours. 
You bought it.” 

“ It should never have been offered for sale,” said 
he gravely. 

“ No, it shouldn’t,” she agreed shortly, and added 
presently, “ But as it was it doesn’t matter. Mr. Bou- 
verie thought it was Kitty’s.” 

“ Oh, of course ; we all thought that,” he said slowly, 
watching her. 

There was a change upon her face, but what it was 
he could not make out; it was an occult shadow of 
change, indefinable. Again her gaze returned to the 
scene below. But Bannatyne persisted; he had not yet 
done. Something flared up in his heart like fire. Yes- 
terday Lady Fallowfield had said that there was no 
engagement. Was there now? At any rate, he knew 
nothing of it, and he was free, free to say what he 
wished, and what was on his tongue, as a loyal, honest 
man who kept the world’s code of honor. 

“Then I may keep it?” he inquired gently. 

343 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


Naturally, if I renounce it,” she answered. Un- 
less you wish to give it away.” 

He raised it to his lips and put it back in his pocket, 
and now Lady Cynthia’s shoulder was turned on him. 
He could not tell if she had witnessed his act of homage. 
Nor did he care if she had; he was reckless; he was 
moving slowly on the wings of a great passion. 

“ I wonder,” said Lady Cynthia, “ if there will be 
a large audience this evening.” 

“We must all hope so for the sake of Lady 
Coombe’s — ” He had been going to say “ charity,” 
but he stopped short of the word. He remembered his 
conduct of the previous night, and he was reluctant to 
recur to the subject. He was ashamed that he had so 
openly entered the lists against Eastwood, and with a 
gage so manifest on his lance. Everyone must have 
known, he felt, and grew hot. It would have been only 
one shade worse if Lady Cynthia had herself been pres- 
ent, but, fortunately, both she and her mother were 
absent from the auction. But everyone must have 
known — Bouverie, Hancock, Miss Grant-Summers, all. 
That was why Miss Grant-Summers had turned her wit 
upon him in the morning. By his behavior he had 
brought the assault upon him, and in so doing had 
shamed the girl beside him. She was probably all un- 
conscious at present, aware only that her handkerchief 
had been used ; but she must learn soon from some one’s 
lips, and surely then would wheel upon him burning eyes 
of scorn and indignation. That she should have been 
put up in the mart of curious eyes and ears, to be the 
344 


Cupid all Arm^d 


cockshy of contending passions ! The thought was abom- 
inable ; it made him shiver. He stopped abruptly on the 
word “charity.” 

Lady Cynthia said nothing. With an indrawing of 
breath he recovered himself, watching her face as it was 
presented to him in bare profile. He did not see her 
hand upon the farther side, which, ungloved, was pluck- 
ing restlessly at the grasses. The flight of his passion 
had been interrupted by these trajectory considerations, 
but as he gazed on her it rose from that dull, unhappy 
sweep to earth, and soared high — strong — invincible. 

He had an infinite pity for her, but it was the pity 
of an infinite love. 

“ I wish you would let me tell you something. Lady 
Cynthia,” he began softly. 

You might have heard the beat of those wings, as 
it had been the steady beat of a heart. Lady Cynthia 
answered nothing, but her face moved slightly toward 
him, though she was still looking down on the house, 
the gardens, and the sunlit park. In the distance the 
gleaming water by the pool of which Bannatyne had 
met her once was just visible. 

It was her attitude that rendered him a modest as- 
sent, an indifferent assent, though he would have gone 
on in despite of her attitude. Louder and stronger beat 
the pinions. Lady Cynthia's underlip quivered, unseen 
of him ; her heart fluttered like a caged bird, fluttered and 
fell back. Below, the happy scene was engrossed in a 
blind mist before his eyes, in which no individual item 
was recognizable. 

23 


345 


A Midsummer Dafs Dream 


I want to say,” said Bannatyne in his musical voice, 
equable still, but with a gathering note in it — “ I want 
to say that I bought this last night not because of the 
charity, but because of you.” 

Lady Cynthia’s heart beat against its prison bars. 

“ You shouldn’t have done that,” she was able to say. 
I’m glad I did it,” he said. “ If it were all of 
you that should ever come to me (as well it might be), 
do you think I’m not rejoiced that I did it?” 

“ It — it was absurd,” murmured Lady Cynthia. It 

— it was ridiculous. You had no right ” 

Ah, no right. You are right,” he said. “ But what 
rights do we consider at such a time? I am a man, 
and I have the rights of a man.” 

She moved restlessly as if she would rise, and there 
was clearly something of deep interest that claimed her 
eyes down in the park. She did not speak, and he went 
on now at a faster rate. 

“ And here, now, I ask you something on the top 
of that confession,” he said. I have lived five-and- 
thirty years. Lady Cynthia, and I’ve seen a good deal of 
life, and overlooked, at any rate, a good deal of love.” 

“ Oh, of course,” she murmured hurriedly. But 
that doesn’t excuse you for making — for using — for 
not ” 

She did not finish, her voice trailing away into silence. 

“ Oh, I was wrong to advertise what I felt, I know,” 
he admitted impetuously. “ But I could not bear that 
some one else should have anything of yours. At least 
I felt I must have that, even if it were all I should 

346 


Cupid all Arwld 


ever have. And if anyone were so happy, so fortunate, 
as to take all, I felt. Lady Cynthia, I should at least 
have that. That could not be taken from me.” 

If you had been going to pay money, you should 
have paid it for the charity,” she murmured. “ It was 
wrong. It was not nice; it was ” 

Bannatyne rose impulsively and drew a step toward 
her. She looked at him, as though with eyes of fear; 
and, in truth, she feared. This was not the irresponsible, 
light-hearted man she had known; this was a trans- 
figured man. She shrank from him in affright, and 
by the aid of a branch at her hand got to her feet, 
her body tremulous throughout. 

Lady Cynthia,” he said, with his hands toward her, 

‘‘ I have sinned, but it was sin for you. Tell me ” 

No, no,” she cried, her heart wild in its cage, her 
heart crying in terror, in a panic, in a mist of emotion 
it did not understand. “ No, no ; you must not — you — 
I ” 

She suddenly turned about and began to run down 
the grassway toward the edge of the wood. Bannatyne 
stood for a moment bewildered by the unexpected act, 
and then he followed her, running lightly. 

A bend in the path hid her for a time, and when he 
also had turned it he saw that the distance between them 
was not diminished. She fled with the speed and light- 
ness of a fawn, of a wild wood nymph, as she had fled 
once before. Here again was Daphne flying from him, 
through the dim wood. 

The path took another curve, and she vanished again ; 

347 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


and when he reached it she was nowhere to be seen. The 
path slipped along the margin of the wood, but no one 
was visible there; and beyond the wood itself a field 
of gray-green corn rolled down to a distant road. Ban- 
natyne stood in wonder, gazing at it. 

As he looked, puzzled and chagrined, he was aware 
of a movement in the standing corn, and a hundred yards 
away he caught sight of a white figure moving swiftly. 
He plunged into the waving corn waist deep. The white 
figure fled through the green sea, breast high about her, 
and he followed. 

She reached the farther edge and disappeared into 
the wood anew, and .once more he pursued the chase. 
The wood here was grown rankly with brambles and 
bracken, and the close trees shrouded it darkly. No path 
ran this way, and the girl had to struggle through the 
ragged underwood as best she might. 

“Thorough bush, thorough brier.” 

The briers caught her frock, and she was stayed per- 
force to disengage it; the brambles scratched her bare 
hand. She struggled on farther, and sank at last on the 
bole of a great beech in a subdued light, her bosom 
heaving deeply, her breath coming fast. She had fled 
in panic on an impulse which she could not resist, but 
she knew not why she had fled. The confusion in her 
mind and heart was so wild that she scarcely knew 
anything at all. She was incapable of reason, and moved 
merely to the rule of emotions. Why was this? What 
had so strangely unhinged her? As she sat now, the 
348 


Cupid all Arm^d 


shadow of her fear still upon her, she could have sobbed. 
She listened for footsteps, and trembled when she heard 
them ; listened again, and her heart ached that they had 
died away. Why had she run? Something — what was 
it? — would have happened if she stayed. Ah, that was 
why she had run. Something would have happened. 

She heard him coming now, and her heart seemed to 
pause in its beating to listen. Nearer he drew and nearer 
through the fern; her heart sickened; nearer still. She 
could not move ; she looked up, and across at the moving 
form, like a hunted creature — like that nymph who fled 
before the god. 

Bannatyne emerged from the undergrowth, and saw 
her, and in two strides he was by her. 

“ Mine, Cynthia, mine ! '' he cried passionately, and 
took her hands. 

“ No, no,’' she sobbed. No, no.” 

'' Mine, Cynthia ! ” he cried again, and took her in 
his arms. 

Her wild heart broke its prison bars, and his lips met 
hers. Her heart turned and nestled shyly, wonderingly, 
contentedly, in its refuge, which was his. 

Beloved ! ” he murmured. 

She broke into gentle sobbing, into happy and bewil- 
dered tears. 


349 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE CURTAIN RISES 

Lord Eastwood, standing in conversation with the 
gatekeeper on the subject of allotments, saw Lady Cyn- 
thia Dane and Bannatyne enter the park together. His 
glance, which had been sharply visiting the particulars of 
the lodge in his customary way, wandered after them; 
but he did not follow until five minutes later, and when 
he did he had just the same note of confidence and im- 
portance in his stride. It might have been observed that 
he whistled as he went, which was not his habit, and 
he flung his stick in the air somewhat extravagantly. His 
actions were usually conducted according to an aus- 
tere rule. He drank tea, and complimented Lady 
Coombe on her enterprise in the matter of the pastoral 
play. 

I must send you the check, by the way, when I get 
back to town,^’ he said calmly. 

There were, therefore, some reasons why Lord East- 
wood should, as Lady Fallowfield put it, “ go far ” ; for 
there was a certain fineness of quality in his resistance. 

Bannatyne was not at tea, nor was Lady Cynthia. 
The sun was tempered toward five o’clock by a soft 
wind through the valley, and after entering the park 
they had not proceeded direct to the house, but had 

350 


The Curtain Rises 


wandered by a devious way through the Wilderness. It 
was cool there, and it was silent. Lady Cynthia walked 
now in a dream, in a dream from which she was some- 
times on the point of waking, but a dream in which were 
no nightmares or evil things. 

“ I wondered once whether you were Allegra or 
Penserosa,” Bannatyne told her, “ and now I know. You 
are both. My Allegra ! ” 

She cast him a shy smile. 

“ And so in one half hour you have rejected and ac- 
cepted lovers,” he said, for he could not keep away from 
the subject. 

“ Oh, I didn’t say — ” began the girl. 

“ No, you didn’t say, sweetheart,” he said ; '' I 
guessed.” 

There was a little silence, and she said shyly, “ I 
didn’t accept anyone. You never gave me the chance.” 

He laughed joyously. Not I.” 

But I thought you were so devoted to Miss Grant- 
Summers,” she said presently. 

You did nothing of the kind, dear heart,” he an- 
swered. You have known all along, I’ll vow. Why, 
it was written in large, it was painted in colors. In 
pursuance of an idle game, I adapted myself to the 
methods of Hermia and Helena. But I have done with 
games now. I am in dead earnest.” 

Cynthia made no remark until they had gone some 
way, and then she said, in a small voice: 

“ You told me you had vowed to marry the lady with 
the — with the foot.” 


351 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


“ The lady with the foot ! Oh, bother the lady with 
the foot ! ” he said gayly. 

“ But you made a vow,” she protested shyly. 

“ If I did, Fm going to break it,” he said. “ Frankly, 
you’re not going to marry your earl, and Fm not going 
to marry my Dryad.” 

'' But you are,” said Lady Cynthia softly. 

He halted, and looked at her in bewilderment. 

“ I found out last night it was Miss Latham,” he 
said. 

Lady Cynthia was smiling and blushing. She shook 
her head. “No, it was Kitty who took the shoe — from 
your room. But she did it to help me. I ” 

“You! ” he cried, a great light dancing in his eyes. 
“You! It was you, Cynthia! Oh, was ever anything 
in life so directly the effort of fate, of destiny? You 
are my Dryad, darling. Oh, I should have known 
it, I should have guessed it; perhaps I should have 
guessed it if I had had a little longer.” He drew 
her to him. “ Tell me how it was. I will hear all,” 
he commanded. 

She held away from him, still blushing. “ It was 
hot — oh, so hot ! — and I wasn’t wanted at the rehearsal ; 
and I found myself near the pool, and it just came into 
my head somehow to dabble in the water. It sounded 
so cool, and looked so cool in the moonlight. And I — and 
I didn’t hear you come, and when I put my — my foot 
under the stream I felt it touch you ” 

“ Touch ! ” said Bannatyne, opening his eyes. 
“ Touch, indeed ! A monstrous hard kick,” he declared. 

352 


The Curtain Rises 


* I couldn’t help crying out. I was startled. 

And I had just time to pick up my — my shoes ” 

'' And stockings, dear,” he said. “ Don’t forget the 
stockings.” 

— and — and I felt one of them drop. I was hor- 
rified ; but I did get away without your seeing me, didn’t 
I ? ” she finished triumphantly. 

'' I saw a fairy gliding through the shadows ; I caught 
a glimpse of a ravishing shape ’twixt bole and bole; I 
had but a vision of heaven, and it was gone.” 

Lady Cynthia was no longer resistant. 

So you will have kept your vow ; you are not for- 
sworn,” she said softly. 

I knew I should,” he said complacently. “ I knew 
I should run her to earth. I’m awfully clever.” After 
a little he thought of something. “ Then what has Kitty 
to do with it ? ” he asked suddenly. 

“ I told her,” said Lady Cynthia, “ as I was really 
rather — well, abashed, you know. And we came to the 
conclusion it must be you, particularly as Kathleen Her- 
rington said you had been talking some nonsense about 
shoes ; and so Kitty offered to get it back for me.” 

And she did, the thief ! I’ll never believe in the 
goodness of woman again. I thought I could have 
trusted Kitty.” 

So you can,” she assured him. “ Kitty is the faith- 
fulest soul in the world. That’s why she did it for me. 
She's devoted to me, and so am I to her.” 

To me, you mean, dear,” he corrected. 

Cynthia could blush divinely. 

353 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


'' Then Miss Ashcroft thinks it’s Kitty ? ” he said, 
seeing light. 

“ Yes. Kitty ran into her room by mistake on — when 
you were so horrid as to run after her,” said Lady 
Cynthia, '‘ and she was hiding there when you knocked. 
But Miss Ashcroft had been waked up, and afterwards 
Kitty told her what she’d done; but she didn’t say any- 
thing about me, and so Miss Ashcroft thought it was 
Kitty who — whom you met in the woods.” 

“ Kitty’s a brick ! ” he said ; “ and now, since you’ve 
made confession so prettily, I, too, will go into the box.” 
He took her face between his two hands and gazed into 
it with grave affection. “ Darling, did you dream this 
morning ? ” 

Cynthia’s face was flushed. “ I always dream at 
night,” she said. 

“ I was not talking of the night. I meant, did you 
dream, about twelve o’clock this morning, under the trees 
up yonder ? ” 

Cynthia’s face was suffused with fire; she stirred 
restlessly. 

“No; answer me ere I free you.” 

“ I — I don’t think so,” she said faintly. 

“ Cynthia, this is my confession, for which I plead 
for absolution. I did not kiss those lips just now for 
the first time. I ” 

He stopped, gazing ardently upon her. “ I kissed 
you there as you lay asleep. The woman tempted me, 
and I did eat. Do you forgive me, child? Have I ab- 
solution ? Think of my temptation ! ” 

354 


The Curtain Rises 


'' Yes,” she said weakly, adding, still more weakly, 
I knew you did.” 

Knew it ? ” he said in astonishment. 

‘‘ Yes, I felt it was you. I was — I wasn^t quite 
asleep. I was only sort of dozing, and I woke, and ” 
— then with a change of voice which was almost 
indignant — “ do you think I would have let anyone — 
I mean, have not been furious if it had been anyone 
else?” 

He kissed her lips again. 

They had reached the edge of the Wilderness, and 
before them lay the glade in full sunshine. Slowly, re- 
luctantly, they began to go down toward the house. 

Go to your room, dearest,” said he, when they were 
nearing the gardens. “ I will return presently and see 
your mother.” 

She gave him a smile of confidence, and, gathering 
her skirts, tripped lightly away, vanishing round a bend 
in the hedge. Bannatyne’s eyes followed her fondly, 
and then he made up toward the hall by another way. 
The sound of voices talking merrily reached him, and 
presently through the trees he discerned Chloe Merring- 
ton seated upon the topmost bar of a gate and swinging 
idly. His heart was full to overflowing, and he went 
up to her, as she swung, looking neither to right nor 
to left. 

‘‘ Miss Chloe,” said he, do you know I’m thinking 
of being married ? ” 

Chloe, whose face had been preparing itself for the 
smile with which she was wont to greet him, started, 
355 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


lost her balance, and toppled backward. Bannatyne 
seized hold of her skirts, and thus she came softly to 
the ground, in pretty disarray. Bannatyne was now 
aware of others whom he had not noticed. From either 
side of him a young man sprang forward and stooped 
to pick up the distressed damsel. But the assistance had 
arrived too coincidently, and Gay’s smooth head bumped 
upon Walrond’s with a resounding noise. 

“ Sorry,” said both simultaneously, staggering aside 
with the force of the impact. 

Bannatyne helped Chloe to her feet. 

“ I’m so glad,” she panted, rose-red, breathless, and 
smiling at him. The tears were in Gay’s eyes as he 
rubbed his head, and one coursed down his red cheek. 

“Well, it didn’t really hurt,” he said manfully; 
“ though, of course, we didn’t do it on purpose ” ; but 
Walrond was frowning. 

“ Don’t tell anyone,” said Bannatyne, whispering. 
“ You’re the only one who knows.” 

“ Is it — it’s Lady Cynthia ? ” whispered back Chloe 
excitedly. 

He nodded. “ Mum’s the word. Miss Chloe. Be as 
secret as the grave.” 

“You can trust me. Oh, I will, Mr. Bannatyne,” 
she breathed, and stood watching him pass away with 
eager interest. 

The frown deepened on Walrond’s face. 

Bannatyne had been unable to resist the impulse to 
break his news to Chloe, of whom he was very fond ; 
but he had not yet broken it to Lady Fallowfield, and 

356 


The Curtain Rises 


that was his first duty. He sought her at once, and, 
having drunk a cup of tea he did not want, succeeded 
in disengaging her at last from the company. She 
looked at him questioningly when they were alone. He 
had taken her upon the lawns. 

“ You’re going to say something serious,” she said ; 
‘'that is evident. Is it to apologize for bringing Cyn- 
thia’s name into last night’s stupid scene ? ” 

“ Her name was never mentioned,” he replied, winc- 
ing ever so little. “ Lord Eastwood and I were bidding 
for charity.” 

She eyed him with open doubt. 

“And I had the privilege of winning,” he went 
on. “ Charity, Lady Fallowfield, covers a multitude of 
sins.” 

“ I’m not sure that it covers this,” she said dryly. 
“ Well, if you aren’t going to apologize, what is it you 
want?” 

“ To remind you, my dear lady, that in the revised 
version of the Bible another word takes the place of 
charity. There remain faith, hope, and charity — these 
three, you remember. But charity is not charity; it is 
love.” 

Lady Fallowfield was momentarily silent; then she 
stirred, and so that her dress rustled. 

“ This is all very interesting, no doubt,” she said. 
“ But I can make neither head nor tail of it. It smacks 
of the sentimental.” 

“ Well, I’ve done your accounts for you,” he said, 
with his shy, humorous look. 

357 


A Midsummer Day's Dream 


Lady Fallowfield’s eyes flashed, and her brow was 
set in a frown. 

“ This means, I take it, that you have proposed to 
Cynthia,” she said bluntly. I don’t think I’m a fool, 
though I dare say she is.” 

“ On the contrary, she seems to me to have very 
good sense,” he said, resuming the light mood for pur- 
poses of defense. 

I see.” The countess considered. “ So that’s the 
meaning of the horseplay last night.” She was silent 
again. I could, of course, put my foot down,” she 
said. 

'' I have always admired it,” said he, glancing down 
at her skirt. 

I don’t say anything about money,” she went on 
with resolute frankness. That’s not the score on which 
I or Fallowfield would take exception. It’s — ” She 
paused. 

I know,” he intervened. “ There’s the prospects. 
He’s a coming man, and I’m a cipher.” 

'' He’s a come man ; he’s arrived,” she said dryly. 

“Yes, it is me who’s the coming man; I forgot,” 
he said meekly. 

Lady Fallowfield smiled. “ You are incorrigible, but 
I don’t know if it wouldn’t help you. It might carry you 
far. Lord Eastwood’s somewhat lacking in lightness.” 

“ A regular stick ! ” said Bannatyne eagerly. 

She smiled again. “I -don’t know that Fallowfield 
would object if the career was certain.” 

“ I’ll get Bouverie to put me up for Parliament,” ^ 

358 


The Curtain Rises 


he told her. He was aware of a big form that moved 
under the shadow of a deodar not far away. It’s Lord 
Eastwood,” he said. I fear I am keeping him from 
you.” 

She glanced toward the deodar. ‘‘ I dispose of my 
own time,” she returned. “ Nor do I suppose he is 
in a hurry to say what he has to say,” she said grimly. 
“If you think about that career, we might take it for 
granted.” 

“ Cynthia will help me,” he assured her. “ She in- 
spires me. I will do anything for her.” 

“ She would be corrective, no doubt,” agreed the 
countess, “ unless she’s fool enough to have fallen in 
love.” 

“ Ah, Lady Fallowfield,” said he sadly, “ is the game 
worth it without ? Is the round worth going ? ” 

“ Oh, you mustn’t ask me emotional questions,” she 
said. “ As I told you. I’ve given up problems. I’m too 
busy with real affairs.” 

“ It is the only real affair,” he said in a lower 
voice. 

She gave him a glance. “ I believe you think so sin- 
cerely. It characterizes the situation invariably. Well, 
after that you will have your career and will thank me 
for that, at least. I don’t know that I accept your 
ideals; they’re too immaterial. But let them pass.” 

“ I’ll accept any ideal you like, if you’ll let me have 
Cynthia,” he pleaded. 

She nodded in a friendly way. “On terms,” she 
said, as she turned to go. He seized her hand. 

359 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


“ Since it couldn’t be you, I’m glad it’s Cynthia,” he 
said, half smiling, half serious. 

She smiled back at him as he kissed her fingers. 

“ Well, as it couldn’t be Eastwood, I suppose I’m 
glad it’s you,” she said pleasantly, and passed away with 
a little color freshening on her handsome face. 

The excitement which had been latent all the Hay, 
and which nothing but the heat had suppressed, began 
now to swell rapidly. It was but two hours to the 
time of the performance, and already some of the audi- 
ence had arrived to tea, by carriage and motor car. The 
stables began to fill, and strange servants in livery were 
visible in odd corners. Bannatyne had arranged with 
Lady Fallowfield that nothing was to be said for the 
present about his engagement. It would be time enough 
on the morrow, when all the excitement had subsided. 
Indeed, Lady Fallowfield was not at all anxious that it 
should come out at once. So might she be able to make 
her retreat in a masterly manner from the Eastwood 
campaign. 

Neither Cynthia nor Bannatyne cared whether their 
engagement was published or not; they were indifferent 
to others and engrossed only in themselves. Chloe knew, 
but Chloe was bound to secrecy. Only one other would 
Cynthia tell, and that was Kitty Latham. Kitty was her 
dear friend and intimate, and it was due to her that she 
should be informed. 

Incidentally, however, yet another member of the 
house party became acquainted with the secret. Out on 
the lawn was Gladys and her pup, rioting in utter de- 
360 


The Curtain Rises 


fiance of the heat ; and while the turmoil of preparation 
raged throughout the house, and while as yet Lady 
Cynthia was invisible, Bannatyne strayed forth and 
joined them. His heart was more akin to Gladys’s 
then than to any maturer person’s. He encouraged 
the gambols, clapped his hands, and directed the 
predatory assaults of the puppy. It passed him on 
its way to Gladys, a leaping wave. He stopped and 
patted it. 

Thank you, puppy,” said he, with a feeling of 
gratitude surging in his bosom. 

“ Woof ! ” said Rip, and, forgetting Gladys and his 
proposed frontal attack, made a diversion in the rear of 
a new enemy. His needles were fixed in Bannatyne’s 
trousers, and he pulled and growled alternately. 

‘‘ Such hilarity bespeaks not only happiness, but in- 
nocence,” said a voice behind him. 

He turned, abandoning his efforts to detach Rip, and 
saw Miss Ashcroft. 

“ Are you referring to me, or Rip ? ” he asked. 

'' Both,” she returned. '' Innocence dwells in the 
hearts of Rips, paradox as it may be.” 

“ Oh,” he said ; then I’m condemned to Rip’s cate- 
gory ? Well, it’s simply impossible to prove a negative.” 
He paused, remembering what Cynthia had told him. 
‘‘ By the way,” he went on, “ I once swore to marry a 
certain lady.” 

“ Did you carry it out? ” she inquired. 

No ; not, that is, yet. But I think I shall.” 

‘‘ Is the fortunate woman known to any of us ? ” 

24 361 


A Midsummer Days Dream 


He hesitated. Yes. Gladys, please call off your 
troops. I surrender. I offer terms.” 

Gladys smilingly disengaged the rampant puppy and 
took him off in her arms fondly. 

“ Perhaps I can guess,” she said, smiling. 

“ Perhaps you can, but I think we both have blun- 
dered. You remember a rose? ” 

“ A rose ! I remember several. I grow them.” 

“ Yes, I know. But some one was hiding under the 
rose. That, like what Pm telling you, is siib rosa!* 

I can keep a secret.” 

Behind that rose was not what appeared ; and since 
you can guess at what you so kindly call the fortunate 
woman, maybe you can guess what the rose sheltered.” 

Miss Ashcroft looked puzzled. 

I believe Fm very dull,” she said slowly. “ And yet 
IVe always prided myself on a decent intelligence.” 

You and I were taken in,” he said. A certain 
thief was not the culprit. I believe you know part of 
the story. A lightsome fairy stole on behalf of an- 
other.” 

There was a pause. “ If I understand aright,” said 
the lady in a curious tone, “ you pursued a will-o’-the- 
wisp.” 

I’ve been doing it all my life till now,” he assented. 

Again she paused, while her quick mind, which had 
followed these hints, took a jump toward the identity he 
had merely shadowed. 

This party, I think,” she said next in a harder 
voice, is quite a marriage market. If I’d had a 
362 


The Curtain Rises 


daughter I would certainly have brought her down 
here.” 

She would have done credit to her mother, I’m 
sure,” he said politely, though he did not understand the 
change in her. 

“ But not having a daughter of my own,” she went 
on, I did my best — ” She stopped abruptly. “ Fm not 
sentimental,” she said sharply, “ so don’t look for sym- 
pathy. I shall give my congratulations to some one else 
— Lord Eastwood, perhaps.” 

“ Personally I would give him anything at the mo- 
ment,” he told her. 

She turned away abruptly, and as she went called 
over her shoulder: 

“ If you can be happy, be so ; but it’s time you left 
some one else a chance.” 

It was her last shot, and he did not pretend to 
understand it. He gathered that Miss Ashcroft was 
offended with him, but he did not know why. He did 
not even know if she had guessed aright. Perhaps, he 
reflected, she had made a wrong shot and disapproved. 
It would be easy for Miss Ashcroft to disapprove of, 
say, Miss Grant-Summers. But the subject did not re- 
main in his mind more than a few minutes. It would 
have been odd if it had done so on that glorious after- 
noon, and with that fount of joy bubbling within him. 

The time was drawing on; already an influx of the 
audience was beginning, and in Titania's Glade the Lon- 
don contractors were busy with the arrangement of the 
seats. 


363 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


“ Do you feel nervous, Bannatyne ? ” inquired Bou- 
verie as he overtook his friend on his way to the 
theater. 

“ I shall never feel nervous again,” said Bannatyne. 
“ I shall act Lysander to the life. I shall be a success.” 

“ You’ve been a great success,” said Bouverie, “ all 
along. I think you’ve been too great a success. I think 
you are marked out for success.” 

“ I wonder if they’d think so in the House.” 

Bouverie uplifted his hands. “ They don’t think 
there,” he said. 

“ Shall I come and teach ’em ? ” 

“ If you did, my son,” said Peter Bouverie solemnly, 
‘‘ I should find life more endurable. No one would ever 
be certain of reaching the right lobby. The papers would 
have a good time, and, of course, the King’s Government 
would go on all the same. We’ve nothing to do with 
that. That’s done by clerks.” 

I’m serious,” said Bannatyne, smiling. 

Bouverie contemplated him. Dear me ! ” was all he 
said. 

Lady Cynthia had not appeared. The sun was low 
in the west, and the shadows were on the valley; the 
cool of the evening was come, and the scents of mid- 
summer rose on the air. 

The bustle in the open theater was tremendous; the 
audience was slowly drifting into the seats, and some- 
where in the unseen distance two fiddles were tuning 
up. Hancock ran to and fro perspiring; he mopped his 
brow. Calls, shouts, and replies echoed down the glade. 

364 


The Curtain Rises 


Behind the rhododendron bushes was gathered the 
company of performers, Lady Coombe in a desperate 
state of nerves and fretting over trifles, Bouverie calm 
and reassuring. 

Bannatyne’s heart leaped. Issuing from the Wilder- 
ness behind he saw Cynthia, and with her Kitty Latham. 
She was in her pale-blue fairy dress, thin gauze wings 
shining in a gleam of the setting sun. He moved im- 
petuously toward her, scarcely noticing Kitty. 

“ You look divine, queen of the fairies,” he whispered. 

‘‘ No, that’s Lady Coombe,” she whispered back play- 
fully, and added, “ I’ve seen mamma. She kissed me.” 

He nodded, and looked toward Kitty, who in the 
rose light seemed pale and anxious. 

“ Kitty knows,” said Cynthia. 

‘‘ Kitty ! ” he said softly. 

I wish you great happiness, Mr. Bannatyne,” said 
Kitty Latham. “I wish you both the greatest happi- 
ness.” 

Her voice was quiet, but unsteady; tears seemed to 
tremble it. Cynthia put an arrq about her, and she 
choked back a little sob. 

“ Children, Hancock is waving,” cried Bannatyne 
warningly. “ Let us galumph. No, let us walk sedately, 
and like members of Parliament. This is a serious 
world, Kitty. Ask Cynthia.” 

Ready, there ? ” inquired Hancock to the musicians 
in the background. “Now, then, it’s no use waiting. 
They’ve been seated quite ten minutes, and the whole 
business will run us into dark.” 

365 


A Midsummer Day^s Dream 


Miss Chloe stood between Walrond and Gay in her 
fairy gown, tittering and smiling. Kitty Latham’s eyes 
wandered in her direction and rested there; then they 
came back to her companions, who were talking together 
in a low voice. Beneath her girdle Kitty’s heart beat 
like a watch. 

“ We’re not going to Gratton,” murmured Cynthia. 

“ No ; you’re coming to the Chace,” he whispered 
back. 

“ Is all our company dissembled ? ” asked Bouverie, 
looking round. “ Is Lady Cynthia there ? Who’s 
seen ” 

'' Adsum; adest/' said Bannatyne promptly. 

“ Humph ! ” said Bouverie, his gaze lingering on 
them significantly. “ Now’s our chance,” he said to 
Ferris, near him. “ The field’s left open now.” 

“ Stop that chattering,” commanded Hancock. Lis- 
ten to me now. Take it crisply in the opening scene, 
and don’t lose your heads. Mrs. Battye, Madgwick! 
Now, Mrs. Battye, please! Your dress is quite right, 
I assure you. Madgwick, come along! Now Lock, 
strike up.” 

The fiddles started. 

The players in the first scene moved toward the verge 
of their cover. 

If it were only moonlight ! ” murmured Banna- 
tyne. “ I don’t like the garish day.” 

He looked at her with smiling eyes that held signifi- 
cance, and, shyly smiling, she looked back. 

All the others were looking toward the auditorium, 

366 


The Curtain Rises 


and Kitty Latham’s presence had been forgotten. She 
turned quickly away and stole silently off among the 
sheltering bushes. 

Now,” commanded Hancock. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, and 
Attendants, 


( 1 ) 


THE END 


367 



A POWERFUL NEW NOVEL BY GEORGE MOORE. 


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